


the spark is not within me

by crookedcrown



Series: crown of love [1]
Category: Little Mix (Band), One Direction (Band), The Wanted (Band)
Genre: F/F, M/M, gangsters!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 36,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedcrown/pseuds/crookedcrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not how Zayn thought his life would turn out. He was going to go to university. He was going to be a teacher.</p><p>But now he runs errands for a gangster named Paul in South London - picking up packages, collecting money. Then he's sent to pick up a boy who's just been released from prison and...</p><p>Well, this isn't the life Zayn had imagined, but it's the only one he's got.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. this is how they meet

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is all fiction.
> 
> This is probably going to be more like a fragmented collection of the same 'verse rather than a cohesive, linear narrative. If that makes sense. (God, I hope so).
> 
> Everything I know about the criminal underworld comes from TV shows, books, and Wikipedia.
> 
> I am also not from the UK.

When Zayn enters the pub, it's almost deserted.

Perrie's there, of course, behind the bar. She's wiping down the counter in lazy circles, and Zayn knows she probably hasn't moved from that spot since the place opened an hour ago. A couple of stools down from her, a man is nursing a beer. It's barely noon.

Before Zayn can give his usual spiel about how she’s the highlight of his day, Perrie jerks her head over her shoulder, toward the backroom.

"Paul wants to see you."

Zayn stops short, grin slipping off his face. It must be a universal feeling, he thinks, the shiver of terror you get when you're told to see the boss.

He fiddles with the cigarette tucked behind his ear, "Am I in trouble?"

"Dunno. Don't think so." She shrugs, "He seemed alright when I gave him his coffee half an hour ago."

The thing with Paul is, when he's mad, he gets mad at everybody. He's like an explosion, and everyone close enough is engulfed in. But it’s over just as quickly.

As Zayn pushes passed the staff door he tries to think of the things he's done that would warrant a call to the back office. He’s honestly stumped. He’s only been to P's office twice before. Once for what he can only think to call his 'induction' almost a year ago. and then two weeks after that when he let some small-bit hustler who owed Paul $2,000 weasel out of a repayment.

Zayn's ears were still ringing an hour later. But the next time he saw that guy, he handed the money over without a word. And when he walked away, Zayn noticed a slight limp.

Paul's door is wide open but Zayn still approaches with caution.

"Zayn!" Paul greets brightly.

And Zayn immediately feels himself relaxing.

"Hey, Paul."

"Take a seat, mate." Zayn does.

Paul has a file open on his desk. There are newspaper clippings and really thick documents barely held together by the staples.

"How's the family?"

Zayn hates small talk but he's not really in a position to ignore him. "Yeah, yeah. They're doing well."

He doesn't call often, just enough to assure his mother that he's OK. There isn't really much else to say.

"Your sister had that thing, didn't she? A couple of weeks ago?"

It's a bit vague. But Waliyha had a dance recital last month.

He smiles, Paul's a pretty good guy. He's often wondered how Paul ended up here. "My mum said it was beautiful."

Paul nods. "That's good, Zayn. You shouldn't lose touch." He sighs, "I know it's hard..."

Zayn's starting to get uncomfortable, he doesn't really want a pep talk from someone who breaks people’s legs for a living. "So am I in trouble, or what?" He says it lightly, because he knows he’s not.

"Ah, right." He flips the file shut. "One of my boys is being released today." Zayn notes that he actually looks quite please about it.

He doesn't know what to say though. It's not like they have a special section in the greeting cards aisle. He settles for, "That's great."

"Yeah," He falls silent for a moment, like he's remembering something. "He's a good kid. Anyway," he says, shaking his head to snap himself out of it, "I need you to pick him up."

Zayn nods, "Sure thing, boss."

"Don't worry about your route today", he says, like Zayn delivers newspapers, or something as innocuous. "You just stay with him today. Help him get back into the swing of things." He hands Zayn a piece of paper. "Address to his new place. Once he's settled, you can have the rest of the day off. Both of you don't have to come in till tomorrow."

Back in his car, Zayn unfolds the note. The address is scribbled across in red ink. it's not too far from his own place. He figures Paul likes to keep his guys close together. In the top corner, in all caps, is the name LIAM.

x

Zayn gets lost on the way to the prison, and is running late. He hopes picking someone up from prison is like picking someone up from an airport. They land at 3pm but by the time they go through customs and pick up their luggage, it's closer to 4pm. He's muttering curses to himself as he screeches into the parking lot and pulls up as close to the gates as he’s allowed. He scans the couple of guys hanging around outside and realises he doesn't know what Liam looks like, doesn't even have a last name.

Zayn winds down his window so he can light up his cigarette. He wonders if he should call Perrie, but figures she wouldn't know much and Paul won't talk about anything over the phone. He supposes it's not really paranoia if there are people out to get you.

He's fiddling with the radio when someone knocks on the door of his car. It scares the shit of him. He inhales too sharply, and then he's coughing, almost drops his cigarettes.

"Sorry." Through watery eyes he looks at the guy who snuck up on him.

Zayn blinks.

The guy can't be older than him. He's wearing a red polo shirt and dark jeans. He has a backpack slung over one shoulder and it feels more like Zayn's picking him up from school.

Zayn's a little stunned.

The guy shifts uncomfortably as Zayn continues to stare. "I didn't mean to..." He clears his throat, "Are you my ride?"

"Liam?"

The guy nods.

"Yeah, I am." He leans over when Liam walks around to unlock the passenger door.

"I'm Zayn," he says when Liam gets in, slinging his backpack to the backseat. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Paul told me someone with stupid hair would come get me."

Zayn doesn't realise he's making a face until Liam kind of chuckles. "I don't think your hair is stupid," Liam says, "I just know it's the type that Paul would say is stupid." He pauses, "If that makes sense."

"Yeah," Zayn nods because it does sound like something Paul would think and say. "Yeah, it does."

"So what are we doing?" Liam asks while he puts on his seatbelt. Zayn realises he hadn't put his on at all.

"I'm taking you to your place," He answers while clicking his own belt into place.

"Is that it?"

"Yeah. Paul says you don't have to come in till tomorrow."

"That's nice of him", he says. And he just sounds so pleasant. So unperturbed.

God, who is this kid?

They probably are similar in age but Zayn can't stop referring to him as 'the kid' in his head. With the curls, the doe eyes and that stupid birthmark (he had thought it was a tattoo when he first glanced at it), the kid looks too young to have nonchalantly walked out of a prison five minutes to go.

"Do you have somewhere else to be?"

Zayn glances at Liam, his hand resting on the stick shift. "What?"

"Do you have plans for after you drop me off?"

"Not really, no. Why?"

"Could we stop by my mate's place?" He pauses, fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "He's got some of my stuff."

Zayn slides his hands down the steering wheel, "Sure. You know the way?"

Liam looks out his window as Zayn starts the car, "Yeah."

x

The place is in the outskirts of the city, Zayn has never been here before. Liam reels off directions like he has it memorised for a test later.

The house they pull up to is a little rundown. The grass is too long, and there are bits of rusted junk left lying around the front yard, including a bicycle with the front wheel missing. Looking at that inexplicably brings a lump to his throat, and God, he just wants to hear his little sister’s voice.

He swallows before he turns to Liam, who hasn’t moved. He's just staring up at the house, watching it like it might suddenly sprout legs and run off.

“This it?” Zayn knows it must be, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He hates uncomfortable silences.

“Yeah,” Liam says, turning slowly to look at Zayn.

Zayn thinks he has really expressive eyes. he looks almost sad.

"You want me to come with you?" Zayn asks, thinks maybe that’s why he’s stalling. "You know, to help you with your stuff?"

Liam sighs, closes his eyes for a moment. "Sure," he says, when he opens them again. "Thanks."

Zayn wonders whose house this is.

It’s difficult to tell what the original colour of the fence is, it’s so rusted. the gate is open, having off one hinge.

The house isn't much better - chunks of paint peeling off the walls, mismatched curtains hanging in dirty windows.

Liam knocks on the door and he seems to have left his uncertainty in the car.

He stands up straighter, shoulders back, head high. Zayn notices that Liam is taller than him, has nice, broad shoulders and a good-looking profile.

The woman who answers the door reminds Zayn instantly of his own mum. They don't look a thing alike but it might be the way her face softens when she sees Liam. "Oh my Lord," she whispers (Zayn notices an Irish twang) and pulls Liam in for a hug.

Liam's at least a foot taller than her but the way he curls up against her makes him seem small. Zayn wonders when the last time someone had hugged him.

"He'll be so happy to see you." She murmurs against his shoulder.

When they pull away the woman's dabbing at her eyes with her shirt sleeve. Her other hand is holding Liam's wrist.

"When-"

"Just this morning." And without looking at him, he says, "This is Zayn." He takes a shaky breath, "This is Maura."

"Hello," Zayn says. She smiles at him and Zayn thinks he should definitely call his mum.

"Come in, come in." She's tugging Liam by the arm. "He's in the living room."

It's much nicer on the inside, Zayn thinks. A little cluttered but nice.

"Niall!" She calls, "Niall, you won't guess who's here!"

"What?" A boy's voice yells back, "Who?"

"Go on," She pushes them towards what Zayn can only assume is the living room. "I'll get some tea and sandwiches."

She hurries off before either of them can say a word.

"Mum!" The voice calls out again. "Who is it?"

Zayn waits for Liam to make the first move. And when he doesn't, he nudges him with his foot.

Liam looks at him. Zayn has no idea what's happening, but he knows it's important. He tilts his head towards the living room. Liam nods.

"Just me," He says, when he walks into the room. Zayn follows.

A blond haired boy is peering around the side of an armchair, a little suspicious but lights up instantly when he sees Liam.

"Holy shit! Liam, you fuck!"

Zayn finds it a little odd that the guy stays in the chair as Liam who has to walk over, crouching down for a hug. But when he moves closer, and Liam finally shifts out of the way, he notices the black brace over his right knee.

Niall has both hands cupped around Liam's face. There are tears streaming down his face, and Zayn wonders if he even notices that he's crying.

"Hasn't been the same without you." His voice is shaky and a little breathless.

Liam's eyes are glistening under what little light is streaming through the room. "I'm sorry."

Zayn feels like an intruder and thinks he should have waited outside, maybe even should have stayed in the car.

This was not what he was expecting at all.

He's about to back out of the room when Maura bustles in with a tray of sandwiches, cups and a pot of tea.

"Here we go, boys!" She sets everything down on a small coffee table and Liam pulls away from Niall to help her.

"Mum," Niall says while wiping his face with his hands. "Liam," he says, like she hadn't been the one to open the door and bring them inside.

"Yes, love." She's beaming at the both of them. "Did you meet Zayn?"

The sparkling blue eyes turn to him.

"Alright?" He says.

Niall grins.

After giving Liam another long hug, Niall's mum leaves them to it.

Zayn doesn't say much else after that. And neither does Liam. Niall does enough talking for the three of them. Zayn quite likes the melodic twang of his voice, almost soothing. Liam must think so too, he seems to relax just a tiny bit. But on his lap, his hands are still clenched into tight fists.

Zayn wants to reach out and cover his fists with his own hand, wants to tell Liam it’s OK, wants to see the tension (that had been absent in the car ride) drain from his body. but Zayn doesn’t know what Liam has done, doesn’t know why they are here.

Hell, Zayn doesn’t know much of anything.

Liam glances at him from the corner of his eyes and Zayn realises he’s been staring.

He quickly shifts his attention back to Niall, who’s babbling about something one of his cousin’s did last Christmas. or something.

Zayn is thankful he doesn’t blush easily.

"You remember Bronny?" Niall asks with his mouth half-full.

Liam shakes his head.

"My cousin?"

Another head shake.

"She's the one with the big- never mind. She still fancies you. Keeps asking me how you are and that." He grins. bits of bread are caught in his braces.

Liam fiddles with his cup. "Did you tell her I was in the clink?"

Niall falls silent like someone suddenly hit the mute button.

Liam's looking at him like he's searching for something. “Niall?”

Niall stares back, eyes deep and blue. Finally he shrugs and says, "You're still better than all the lads in Mullingar."

And then Niall's back to rambling about a new video game, bits of food spraying out of his mouth.

The corner of Liam's lips quirks up in the tiniest, softest of smiles. And this time Zayn can't bear to turn away.

x

In the car, after they've put on their seatbelts, Zayn asks, "They didn't come see you? When you were..." He trails off and kind of shrugs.

"I asked them not to."

Liam's staring straight ahead when Zayn looks at him.

He has so many questions whirling around his head. Who are you? What did you do? How did you get here? Can I touch you?

Zayn wants to wants to reach over and run his fingers through his hair, tuck some curls behind his ear.

He wants to press his lips against that birthmark.

Instead he says, "Fair enough." He starts the car, "Where to now?"

"I guess... Home, please."

Home, Zayn, thinks, what an alien thought that must be for him.


	2. this is where it starts

Zayn hadn’t meant to follow Liam up to his apartment. But Liam hadn’t objected when Zayn had parked the car instead of letting him out at the front of the building, hadn’t objected when Zayn got out and grabbed one of the duffels they had picked up from Niall’s, and hadn’t objected as they took the elevator up to his level.

And still hasn’t said a word as Zayn hands him his keys and lets him do the honours of opening the door to his new place.

It’s a studio apartment, bigger than Zayn’s and has a balcony.

It’s already furnished with the basics – a bed, a fridge, a couch, a TV.

Zayn follows Liam’s lead and drops his bags by the foot of the bed.

“This is nice,” Zayn says into the silence. “Anyway, I guess you’d like some time alone to get settled...”

From the glass doors of the balcony, Liam turns to him and says, “Do you want to stay?”

Zayn feels his heart start to race and he’s not really sure what Liam’s asking him but he’s already saying, “Sure. Yeah, OK.”

He pats at his pockets and says, “I have some weed, if you’re into that.”

Liam shrugs, “Sure.”

 

Zayn realises he’s smoked too much when he notices his limbs starting to feel heavy, and his voice is getting slow and gravelly like Harry’s, and his eyes are feeling dry twitchy, they way it only does when he’s really, really stoned.

He looks up from telling Liam’s future through the lines of his palms and sees the other boy looking on, amused. And he knows he’s definitely smoked more than Liam.

“Alright?” He asks.

Zayn blinks back at him and frowns, digging his nails into Liam’s palm and says, “Are you listening to me?”

“Of course. David Beckham is going to leave Victoria for me. It’s going to be very scandalous but we’ll move out to the country and live the rest of our happy lives on a corgi farm...”

Zayn let’s his soothing voice wash over him as he stares at Liam’s hands. They are bigger than Zayn’s, calloused but warm and strong. Liam has good hands.

Really, really good hands. So it only really makes sense for Zayn to lean forward and kiss it.

He feels Liam tense up immediately. And Zayn knows he’s crossed a line. “Sorry,” he says but he hasn’t let go and Liam hasn’t pulled away.

So Zayn does it again, slower, eyes locking with Liam’s as he presses his lips to his palm.

Liam inhales sharply and says, “Zayn, I don’t think...”

Zayn waits for him to finish but the silence stretches out, the words linger like puffs of smoke before disappearing into thin air.

But Liam is looking at him, pupils blown, the first two buttons of his polo are undone and he can see his birthmark. A tease, such a tease.

Then Zayn is climbing onto Liam, straddling his lap.

He runs his fingers through his curls, they’re soft as he had imagined. He scrapes his nails lightly across his scalp and Liam moans, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Don’t think,” Zayn whispers, his lips hovering over Liam’s. “Don’t think.”

And then he kisses him.

 

He wakes up on Liam’s bed.

He sits up, looks around, notes the absence of sound, and realises Liam is gone.

One of Liam’s duffels is open on the couch, and a damp towel is hanging off the back.

God, Zayn must have slept like the dead.

The weed was stronger than he was used to (and this was the last time he was getting it off Perrie’s ‘new friend’ Cher), and maybe his nerves had him smoking more than he normally would, and he might have stayed up almost all night last night finishing off the latest Murakami book but seriously, who falls asleep with their tongue in someone’s mouth and their hand down their jeans?

Zayn falls back onto the bed and closes his eyes, he should get out of here.

There’s no pad or paper just lying around, and he doesn’t have Liam’s number, doesn’t know if Liam even has a phone.

In the kitchenette he notices two cups rinsed out by the sink and he wonders who saw him passed out on Liam’s bed.

He really hopes it wasn’t Paul.

He leaves the rest of the weed but pockets his phone and keys.

He glances back at the empty apartment, shakes his head and mutters, “Fuck” as he lets the door fall shut and lock behind him.


	3. his name is liam payne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Thanks for reading, the kudos and the lovely comments. I really appreciate it. :)
> 
> If you have any 1D AU ideas, please leave a comment and maybe I'll kick out a few hundred words.
> 
> Cheers!

“Cheer up, Zaynie. You’re still young, _and_ you still have your Danny Zuko good looks. What’s there to be sad about?

“It's definitely about a boy, isn’t it? I can see the man angst glistening in your eyes.”

Zayn hasn't seen Liam in three days. Perrie claims he's been moping but Zayn knows she's definitely wrong.

“OK, enough!” Perrie has her arm hooked around his neck and she’s just short enough for him to be stooping at an uncomfortable angle.

“I agreed to come out with you, we’re here. You can leave now.”

“Nope. I’ve already made reservations for Zayn Malik’s pity party for two. No cancellations.”

He sighs and turns to where the music and loud hollering is coming from and says, “Isn’t that Jade on stage, shaking what her mama gave her?”

“Oh, is it?” Perrie has the worst poker face in the history of existence. He knows this because he has actually played poker with her. She might as well have been held her cards facing outwards. “Oh, I think you are right. What a crazy coincidence. I had no idea she was on tonight. I should go say hi.”

Normally Zayn would point out how illogical it would be to try and say hi to someone who was in the middle of performing, but Perrie’s already pushed off from him, and is muscling her way through the crowd.

Zayn hadn’t been to the X-Factor in over a month but he’s heard enough about Jade from Perrie, he could write a very informative and well sourced Wikipedia article about her.

He once said burlesque dancing was just a nicer term for stripper, and copped an outraged earful from Perrie. Her pitch had gotten higher and higher until he was sure she would burst his eardrum.

But mostly he was just thankful that Harry hadn’t been around to give him another lecture about casual sexism.

“Well, well, well. Look at who the handsome cat handsomely dragged in.”

Zayn turns and smiles at Jesy as she props an elbow onto the counter between them.

“Alright, Zayn? It’s been a while, yeah?”

“Yeah, been busy, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” She smirks. “The usual then?”

He nods, “Please.”

 “Lads are all here, yeah?”

Zayn shakes his head, “Just me.”

She looks confused. “Really? I thought I just saw Harry a minute ago.

“You sure?” Zayn knows Harry’s a pretty recognisable guy (with the hair and the tattoos) but they’re in a club and Zayn can barely make out the lines of ink on his own arm.

“He was with another guy,” Jesy continues as she hands him his drink. “Wasn’t Louie, though.”

Could be anyone, might not even be Harry, Zayn reasons but it doesn't stop his heart rate from rising.

She must see something in Zayn’s face because she hesitates for a moment, like she’s realised she might have said the wrong thing, or too much. “Might have mistaken. It’s awfully dark in here.”

Before he can ask her what the other guy looked like, she’s being waved down by a customer.

“Sorry, Z. I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?”

She hurries off before Zayn can say another word.

 

He lingers at the bar, nursing his drink.

Harry’s here? Harry’s here without Louis? Harry’s here without Louis, but is with some other guy?

He crushes an ice cube between his teeth.

He glances towards the stage to check on Perrie, but she seemed pretty content.

When he turns back to wave Jesy down for a refill he spots a familiar head of curls weaving his way towards backstage. He’s talking to someone, but Harry’s giant head is blocking Zayn from seeing who it is. It’s definitely not Louis because Harry doesn’t have to tilt his head down.

Zayn doesn’t realise he’s started walking towards them until he’s met with a wall of sweaty people.

He tries to squeeze past with polite a polite “please” and “excuse me” but either they can’t hear him over the music or they just don’t give a shit. So Zayn puts his unnaturally pointy elbows (Louis words, not his) to good use.  
  
It still takes him a long time to get through.

The bouncer by the backdoor merely nods at him as he passes and Zayn thinks he must be pretty recognisable too.

He walks past the ladies’ changing rooms with the soft giggles and bursts of perfume, and as he turns the corner he hears the tail end of Harry’s distinct drawl and catches sight of a door closing at the end of the corridor.

It’s only when he’s got a hand on the knob, he realises he doesn’t have a plan of action and that he really didn’t think this through.

He probably should have just waited in the club for Harry, or texted him. he really shouldn’t be here.

He’s about to turn away when the door opens and he comes face to face with Harry.

His eyes widen with shock when he says, “Zayn!”

But whatever else he says is lost to Zayn because over Harry’s shoulder, Zayn sees Liam.

He’s shaved off his curls but Zayn knows that profile, the shape of his nose, the moles down the side of his neck.

Zayn had memorized it all on the day he picked him up from prison which suddenly feels like a long time ago.

Liam has a hammer.

Liam has a hammer raised high above his head.

His brow furrowed in concentration, his lips pressed into a thin line, the flex of his muscle and he tightens his grip on the handle as he swings it down.

Zayn tracks the downward arch of the hammer as it hits its target.

Only then does Zayn realise there’s another person in the room. A person tied to a chair. A person screaming in agony as the bones in his hand crack under the forceful impact of the hammer.

This all happens within seconds, but Zayn feels like he’s stoned, or underwater, or someone’s hit the slow-mo on the remote. And can’t look away, can’t even blink.

Harry’s hands are on his shoulder, but he still hasn’t bothered to look as friend.

His gaze flicks up from the hand (twitching like a fish out of water on its last breaths) and his eyes lock with Liam’s. There’s a flicker of recognition before it smooths out into a careful blankness.

Which is funny, because only a couple of days ago, Zayn had thought they were the most expressive eyes, thought he could read him like a book.

Zayn is an idiot.

“Hey,” Harry ‘s mouth is right by his ear, and he can’t ignore him any longer. “Hey, why don’t we go out for some fresh air, yeah?”

Zayn glances at Harry before looking back at Liam.

But Liam’s looking at the guy in the chair, who’s whimpering now, face contorted in pain.

“Be quiet,” Liam says.

The man obediently shuts his mouth, trying to hold back his sobs like a chastised child.

Zayn can only nod as Harry gently ushers him out of the room, closes the door behind them before guiding them out of the building.

When the blast of cold London air hits him in the face, all Zayn can think is, oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit.

Zayn might make some really bad life decisions but he's not naive. He knows the people he works for, and the people he calls friends are not exactly shining examples of model citizens.

Paul's always kept him in the fringe. He's a glorified delivery boy, if he's to be honest with himself.

He's working off a debt. His year is almost up.

They don't want him to get too involved. They don't want him to know too much...

He's acting on automatic pilot when his hand reaches into his back jeans pocket and pulls out his packets of cigarettes.

He feels the weight of Harry's gaze but he watches his own hands as they tap out one, and tucks it into the corner of his lips.

He jams the packet into the pocket of his leather jacket while his other hand fishes for his lighter.

He realises his hands are shaking when he can't get a spark.

Harry steps forward then, takes the lighter from him and lights his cigarette with the first strike of his thumb.

Zayn inhales deeply, eyes fluttering shut as he waits for the nicotine to his his bloodstream.

When he opens them, Harry is fiddling with his lighter - lighting it and then blowing the tiny flicker of flame out.

"I'm making a wish every time," he says.

Zayn feels a small smile tug at his lips as he sucks in another breath.

“Where’s Louis?” It's the first thing that comes to mind that has nothing to do with what just happened.

“He stopped by Doncaster on the way back. Was the twins’ birthday last week.”

That’s right. Zayn vaguely remembers Louis being upset about not being there, and then buying a sackful of presents like he was Santa.

“He’ll be back tomorrow.”

Zayn taps the ash of his cigarette and lets a long moment of silence unfurl between them.

“Who is he?” He finally asks.

Harry doesn't answer straight away, but he's always preferred to think before he speaks, weighing each word carefully like he has all the time in the world.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Who is he?" He repeats and frowns like he's facing a real moral dilemma.

“I don’t really think it’s my place to say.”

Zayn can hear Louis’s voice in his head say, “That’s just our Harry, isn’t it? Even when he’s the bad guy, he’s still the good guy.”

“I didn't really know him then. And I think that's what you're really asking me, isn't it?"

"You didn't know him before he went to prison?"

Harry shakes his head, "No, before he got involved in all of this."

Zayn stares at his shoes and frowns.

"Look, I know you and Liam have this..."

Zayn's head snaps up at that.

"..thing. Sort of. Do you?"

"You were in the apartment. You were the second cup."

Harry shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and shrugs. "When Paul told me he was out, I went to go see him. He wouldn't let any of us visit him when he was locked up."

"Does Paul know?"

"No. Not really any of his business, really. Or mine." He pauses, "Actually, it might be a little bit of Paul's business..."

"Harry."

"Zayn." Harry's looking at him now, really focused like Zayn's a particularly difficult equation. "Do you even know his last name?"

It's apparent that he doesn't and he thinks Harry must have known this.

His cigarette's nearly burned down to its bud.

"Payne," Harry finally says. "P-A-Y-N-E."

Zayn should really know better when Harry doesn't elaborate. He always did love being all cryptic and mysterious and shit.

God, he really wishes Louis was here.

Zayn shakes his head at Harry. And drops the cigarette, and even though its nearly burnt itself out, he takes great satisfaction in grinding it into the ground.

He ignores Harry's disapproving face.

“Bad for the environment and your shoes. There was a bin right there.” Harry jabs a thumb over his shoulder.

"I'm going to head home. I’ll let you get back to... that.” And that's the closest they'll ever come to talking about it.  

Harry nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Zayn glances at him over his shoulder, “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”


	4. the (not-quite) origin story

When he gets home, Zayn turns on his laptop.

Liam Payne.

There’s something familiar about the name but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

He kicks off his shoes and lights up a cigarette before sitting down in front of the screen.

“Liam Payne,” he says out loud to himself.

“Liam Payne,” He says, slower. And yes, there’s a flash, but it slips through the sieve of his memory.

He types the name into Google, pauses, and then adds ‘arrest’.

His mouse hovers over I’m Feeling Lucky, and he thinks, sure, why not?

He clicks.

_Olympic hopeful Liam James Payne, 18, has been arrested at approximately 3:30am this morning outside the X-Factor, allegedly charged with grievous bodily harm. Three males aged between 17 and 21 were taken to hospital. Police say they are in a serious but stable condition._

_The notorious club has been a hotspot for violence in recent years, with many petitions demanding for it to be closed down but to no avail._

_The club’s owner Simon Cowell, who allegedly has underworld links of his own, and Liam Payne’s representatives were unavailable for comment._

Olympic hopeful.

Grievous bodily harm.

Liam James Payne.

Zayn glances at the date at the top of the article 12th May 2012.

Two fucking months before the Olympics.

He puts out his cigarette and opens another tab and searches for Liam’s Wikipedia page.

 _Liam James Payne_ _, born 29 August 1993, is from Wolverhampton, West Midlands, England._

_Born three weeks early to mother Karen and father Geoff, he has two older sisters, Ruth and Nicola._

_Until the age of four, Payne had regular tests done in hospital as doctors noticed one of his kidneys was scarred and dysfunctional. To help cope with the pain, he had 32 injections in his arm in the morning and evening as a child._

_As a student, Payne was heavily involved in sports._

_He was bullied in secondary school and took up boxing lessons at the age of 12._

_At 14, his natural athleticism and talent had him boxing competitively, and he soon caught the eye of famous boxing trainer Freddie Roach._

_Unfortunately, before any real progress could be made, Payne ruptured the patellar tendon in his right knee._

_He promptly vanished from public view._

_There was much speculation about his sudden absence after creating such buzz. Rumours of financial and medical trouble surfaced but were never confirmed._

_In 2010, Payne returned to the boxing scene with controversial trainer-manager Louis Walsh at his side._

_As Payne was still technically considered an amateur, Walsh insisted he was simply a family friend and was not acting as his manager, as many had suspected._

_In 2011, Payne won gold at the European Championships in Turkey and silver in the World Boxing Championships in Azerbaijan._

_He qualified for the Olympics in April 2012._

_In May 2012, two months before the Olympics, Payne was arrested on charges of inflicting grievous bodily harm, after getting into a fight outside the X-Factor._

_He was sentenced to five years in prison._

Followed by a list of competitions he had won, Liam’s Wikipedia page abruptly ends there.

Out-of-date, Zayn thinks.

He briefly considers updating it himself, and after spending a minute debating on what he could say, he ends up typing: _July 2015, released._

Zayn realises then that Liam only served three out of the five years.

 ‘Only’, he shakes his head, like three years of your life is no big fucking deal.

He wonders where Liam’s family is now, wonders why a guy with stupid hair and a poor sense of direction had been the one waiting for him outside those prison gates instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the lovely comments and kudos! :)
> 
> I don't know anything about boxing, watched very little of the Olympics, and am completely unfamiliar with the UK legal system. 
> 
> This was a mixture of things I Googled and things I just made up.
> 
> Please note: I copy and pasted the first half of Liam's fake Wikipedia page from his section in the real One Direction Wikipedia page.


	5. an example

Zayn wakes up on the coach with a crick in his neck.

He’d fallen asleep watching Liam’s old interviews on YouTube.

He checks his phone. He has one missed call from Harry followed by a text saying, ‘Never mind, sleepyhead :) x’.

He taps on his keyboard and his screen turns back on. He starts to close all his tabs but hesitates on the last.

He clicks play.

Liam can’t be older than 15 in this one. He looks stupidly young and he’s hair is straightened and styled like that singer his sisters’ are obsessed with. But when he smiles, all shy and soft it twists something deep inside Zayn.

“I’m here with Wolverhampton’s very own next big thing.”

“Liam Payne, a lot of boxing bigwigs are saying we should keep an eye on you. How do you feel about that?”

“Oh. Really, really flattered. I actually don’t know what else to say.”

“Freddie Roach actually came to see one of your fights.”

“Yeah, he came to my fight in Manchester.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“Dream big, don’t give up, and that he’ll see me in a couple of years.”

“Wow. You must have felt ecstatic.”

“Yeah, I mean, he’s a legend, isn’t he? I almost couldn’t look him in the eye.”

“I probably couldn’t either. What are your goals?”

“Um. I’d love to go to the Olympics. Like, represent Great Britain and my family. I’d love to win a gold medal. Then I’m going to go pro and be the best in the world.”

“Aiming high, Liam. That’s the spirit! Do you have anyone you look up to?”

“Like in boxing? Of course, Muhammad Ali. Um. And Amir Khan.”

“A lot of boxers have nicknames. Amir’s is King. And Ali has many, the Greatest, being just one of them. You’ve been dubbed the Wolverhampton Wonder Kid by local papers. What do you think about that?”

Liam shrugs, “I don’t like being referred to as a kid.”

“Yeah, not a nickname you want stuck with you your whole career. Have you come up with an alternative?”

“Um. No, I haven’t.”

“Maybe you should pick one before Wonder Kid sticks.”

“Oh.” He chuckles a little nervously. “Um. OK.”

He frowns in deep concentration, his bottom lip jutting out.

“How about Liam ‘Here Comes the’ Payne?” He laughs then, face scrunched up.  “That’s pretty terrible. I’m not very smart, I’m afraid.”

Zayn wants to smack his laptop of the table.

Why is he so invested in Liam? He’s practically a stranger.

A stranger he, admittedly, now knows a lot of random facts about.

The interviewer laughs, “I guess we won’t be hearing much smack talking from you before fights, then?”

Liam shakes his head, “I prefer to let my actions speak for me.”

“Well, the best of luck to you, Liam. We’re all rooting for you. I just hope you won’t forget about us when you become rich and famous.”

“No,” Liam says, “never.”

When he gets up he stubs his toe against the leg of his coffee table, and then discovers he’s out milk after he’s already poured hot water onto his teabag.

 It’s turning out to be one of those days, so he really shouldn’t be surprised when we walks out of his building and is immediately honked at.

 “Hey, good-looking. Going my way?”

Zayn sighs, tucks his sketchbook under one arm and turns to the driver. “I’m going to Ed’s.”

Louis grins. “Me too. “

“Seriously?”

Louis nods. “Get in.”

Ed’s is only four blocks away, and it’s a relatively nice day which is why Zayn decided to walk, but Louis’ inching down the road to keep pace with him and Zayn can see the cars starting to cue up behind him.

He gets in.

Once he’s buckled his seatbelt, Louis asks, “You adding to your sleeve?”

 “Nah. Getting this one on my shoulder.”

Louis has something unreasonably perky blasting from his speakers and Zayn resists the urge to change it. Louis has very strict rules about car etiquette. Harry swears the bruise from the Chinese burn Louis gave him lasted for months.

“So, how are the girls?” Zayn figures he’ll just talk over it. If it’s about his family, Louis doesn’t mind.

“Great. They’re growing like weeds. No, that’s not right. Like beautiful flowers. Beautiful, loud, nosey flowers.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the brother-tree.”

Louis bats his eyelashes. “Oh, you and your flattery.”

For a moment the car is just filled with a sugary-sweet voice over heavy bass beats. Louis has always been really random with his music.

Zayn thinks, fuck it. “Five years is a long time.”

Without missing a beat Louis says, “They wanted to make an example of him, I suppose.” Like he had been waiting for Zayn to say something all along.

Zayn has learnt that Louis is never anywhere by accident, he's never just passing through. He's always there for a reason, whether you realise it or not.

“That's the maximum sentence for it.” Louis breezily flips on the left signal, pauses and then turns. "Grievous bodily harm, they called it. Even though they started it, even thought it was two against one."

Zayn frowns. “Wasn't there three? They said three were taken two hospitals.”

Louis shakes his head, "It was those two wankers. And Niall.”

“What?” Zayn is confused. He remembers blue eyes and braces. “Niall?”

“Jay and Max ambushed Niall outside the X-Factor. Liam came out, went absolutely ballistic.  Me, Harry, Paul and Andy had to pry Liam off them.”

Zayn doesn’t remember reading that. The articles didn’t really go into much detail in what actually happened. Typical. “But that’s sort of self-defence, right?”

Louis shakes his head, “The judge said if we hadn’t interfered he would have killed them. And he was probably right. He’s literally a trained fighter. He did some bare-knuckled boxing on the side to earn some extra cash, and he shot through the ranks like a bullet.

“Listen,” Louis starts, and actually turns down the music, “the things people do for the ones they love, the things people have to do to survive here...”

“I know. It’s why we’re all here, isn’t? I mean, we’re all good lads.”

“You and Liam, maybe. And I suppose I’m alright, sometimes. But Harry? Harry’s a monster.” Louis grins.

Zayn laughs.

Louis slows down as Ed’s shop comes into view. “Ugh. There’s never parking here.”

Louis drops Zayn at the curb. “I’m going to circle the block. Tell Liam to wait for me here.”

The bottom of Zayn’s stomach drops. “I – what?” But Louis is already speeding off around the corner.

 

Leigh-Anne smiles at him when he pushes through the front door.

“Hey, Zayn. Ed’s running a little behind schedule. Take a seat and he’ll be right with you.”

Zayn nods. He sits and the flips open his sketchbook.

He tries to focus on cleaning up some lines on his design but he’s really just running his felt-tip over and over the same line until the ink bleeds through and almost ruins it.

“Oh, shit.”

Leigh-Anne looks up from where she’s sketching at the counter, frowns, and then throws him a box of tissue.

“Cheers.”

The door to Ed’s room opens and Ed sticks his head out. “Sorry, Zayn. Give me a few minutes to clean up and I’ll be right with you.” He disappears back into his room with Leigh-Anne on his heels.

“See you soon, Li.” He hears Ed say.

“Yeah, thanks again, mate.”

And even though he’s expecting him, seeing Liam step out of the room still leaves Zayn a little breathless.

“It was my fault,” Liam says and lifts his cling-film covered right arm. “Wanted Ed to fill these in. Didn’t realise how long it would take.”

Zayn’s slide to the arrows running up the side of his forearm and then back at Liam.

“Hey, Zayn.”

Zayn rises to his feet. “Hi.”

Do they shake hands? Maybe a one-armed hug?

They just stand there, looking at each other.

Liam then ducks his head and smiles, and it looks so similar to the 15-year-old with the stupid hair, Zayn’s heart head-butts his ribcage.

“They look good, the arrows. Cool design.”

“Thanks. It’s was Harry’s idea. He rambled on and on about moving forward in one direction. I wasn’t really listening. I liked how it looked though.

 “What are you getting?”

“What?”

“I assume you’re getting a tattoo. That’s why you’re here?”

“Oh, yeah.” Zayn feels himself flush. He conveniently turns away to pick up his sketchbook. “I’m going to get this on my shoulder.”

“Did you draw that?” Zayn nods. “That’s sick.”

He smiles and pushes up his shirt sleeve. “I designed all my tattoos.”

“Wow. You’ve almost got more than Harry.”

“He keeps saying he’ll get a complete sleeve before me.”

Liam shakes his head. “I doubt it. His tattoos are really random and all over the place. I don’t think he knows what a sleeve is.”

Zayn laughs and is about to roll his shirt sleeve down when Liam points and says, “I like this one.” His fingertip grazes the outline of his ZAP! tattoo.

Zayn stares at where they’re touching and says, “I’m a bit of a comic-book geek.”

“Oh yeah? Me too.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought.”

Liam looks confused, “Why?”

Zayn shakes his head, “Never mind. Who’s your favourite?”

“Batman,” Liam says almost immediately. Then, “I mean, he’s pretty cool.”

“He’s very cool. Definitely one of my favourites too.”

They’re just grinning at each other again and Zayn’s really glad that no one’s around to witness this.

Outside, someone beeps long and loud, followed by several shorter but just as loud beeps.

“Oh,” Zayn remembers, “Louis is waiting for you outside.”

“Huh,” Liam says, “OK.” He walks towards the door then stops and turns, “Paul’s keeping me on burners at the moment but maybe, if you want, you could give me your number.

Liam rubs his hand over his head. “I mean if that’s OK?”

Zayn smiles and uncaps his felt-tip and reaches out for Liam’s other arm. He very carefully writes out each number, making sure they don’t smudge, and then at the end draws the Batman symbol.

When Zayn looks at Liam, he’s beaming.

“I think we started things a little out of order.”

“We mustn’t let social norms dictate or define our expectations of each other.”

This is punctuated by another loud beep and some yelling.

“OK, _Harry_. You better get out of here before Louis has your head.”

Liam leans forward and kisses Zayn on the cheek. “Goodbye, Zayn.”

Zayn watches him push open the door and walk towards the car.

Hanging out of the passenger side window, Louis makes a couple of obscene gestures. Liam pushes his head back in and opens the door. He pauses to wave at Zayn.

There are so many different facets of Liam bouncing around in his head. The kid with the big dreams, the Olympic-bound athlete, the newly released street enforcer, and the boy who likes Batman. And some how they are all merged into this one being with the crinkly-eyed smile and wonky heart birthmark.

Zayn waves back.

Ed clears his throat. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr Malik.”

 

 

After Zayn’s shown Ed his drawing and Zayn’s settled into the seat Ed asks, “Did you just get chatted up by Liam Payne at the front of my shop?”

Zayn rolls his eyes but Ed just chuckles. “Hey, I’m not paying you to gossip.”

“Alright, alright, Grumpy.” Ed wipes down his shoulder and turns on the needle. “He was going to the Olympics, you know.”

Zayn closes his eyes and lets the familiar comforting sound of the buzzing wash over him. “Yeah,” he says, “I know.”


	6. even though i didn't ask you

Zayn's mum is the only one in the house when Zayn comes home on his uni break.

He doesn’t particularly want to be back but he didn’t make any friends, and didn’t want to stay in his shitty student accommodation any longer than he has to.

She hugs him like he’s just returned from a tour in Afghanistan.

She makes him take a seat in the kitchen while she insists on making him some food, despite him telling her over and over that he’s not hungry.

She chatters as she bustles back and forth between the fridge and the stove, while Zayn just stares out the window.

He wonders what she’ll say if he told her he wasn’t doing so well in school. That he's already behind because he barely turns up to classes, and is struggling to keep up now. He wonders what she’ll think if he tells her he hasn't made any friends, because he refuses to talk to anybody. And that maybe he made a bad decision in going to university, maybe he wasn’t cut out for it. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be a teacher. Maybe this isn't what he wants.

But he keeps it all to himself, like he always does.

 “...and Danny’s back as well.”

That snaps Zayn out of his reverie.

“What?”

His mum looks up from the chopping board. “Danny Riach. You were friends, weren’t you?”

A long time ago, Zayn thinks, a lifetime.

“Why is he back?”

His mother face falls. “His mother has pancreatic cancer, stage four. The doctors say she has less than a year, poor dear. So Danny’s back to take care of her and his brother. It’s the least he can do, after all the heartache he’s caused her.”

Zayn frowns to himself. Danny’s back.

Danny lived down the street, he was two years older but they went to the same school. He was the coolest person Zayn knew. He and his brother Ant were the closest thing Zayn had to best friends. Or maybe they were best friends, Zayn can't tell these things anymore.

Ant was two years younger than Zayn but was already taller than him. Danny used to call him the Little Giant. A sweet-faced, gentle-hearted kid who was always too big for his age. Zayn feels a stab of guilt as he realises he should have made more of an effort to stay in touch with Ant, looked out for him, especially after Danny left. But Zayn had been too caught up with himself. It hurt more than Zayn would have thought. They had been drifitng apart for months but Danny was always around, somewhere, but now he's gone. They had promised they would leave Bradford together. But Danny had left without him, Danny had him behind.

Growing up, they were inseperable. They were at each other's houses all the time - kicking footballs in the backyard, lying on top of each other while playing video games, falling asleep while trying to stay up reading comic books. Danny was the first person to tell Zayn he was a good drawer. It was the best of times, Zayn supposes. But back then, they thought this was just the beginning.

Then Danny’s parents separated, his dad ran off with a woman he worked with. Danny’s mum couldn’t afford the house on her own, so they moved.

Zayn saw Danny less and less.

At school he was distant. He was angry, Zayn remembers. At his mum, his dad, at everything.

And sometimes he wouldn’t turn even turn up to class.

In the few times they did talk, Danny always wanted Zayn to come out with him but Zayn needed to be at home most afternoons for his sisters, because both his parents worked.

Eventually Danny stopped asking. He was still nice to him, when they saw each other in the hallways or on the street. But there was an edge to his smile and a hardness in his eyes that made Zayn want to punch him in the face and hug him at the same time.

He started wearing the newest hi-tops and snapbacks, even though his mum worked nightshifts as the bottling plant.

He even got Zayn a couple of limited edition comic books, for his birthdays. He was sometimes late with them, but he never forgot.

Zayn didn’t know where or how he got all that stuff, not at the time. He was just a stupid kid. But his mum knew, or at least had a sneaking suspicion.

She would ask about Danny sometimes - how’s he’s mum and brother are doing, if he was at school.

She’d mention she saw him hanging out by the train station with some questionable looking people.

And Zayn would just shrug and go to his room.

His mum never out right said anything bad about Danny, never said he should stay away from him. But she always made the same pinched expression, like she caught the whiff of something rotting, whenever his name came up, even if she was the one to say it.

In his first year of sixth form, Danny didn’t turn up to school all week, which was unusual, even for him. He didn’t reply to any of Zayn’s texts and just when Zayn was really starting to get worried him, his mum pulled him aside and told him that Danny had left.

He had to hear it from his mother.

“He’s gone to London.” She shook her head, “His poor mother,” was all she said.

Zayn eventually heard, through the Chinese whispers of school gossip, that Danny was running with a gang in South London.

Ant just kept to himself, not really talking to anyone. He would only smile at Zayn sadly whenever Zayn greeted him in the halls.

And now Danny’s mum is sick, so Danny’s back.

 

 

The next day, Zayn catches a bus to Danny’s mum’s apartment but no-one answers when he knocks. Ant must still be in school and he figures Danny might be at the hospital.

The nurse at the desk gives him a suspicious once over but tells him the room number for Danny’s mum.

He jabs at the 7 button in the lift, before shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

God, he hates hospitals.

When the doors open, he realises he’s in the fancy private wing. It’s almost a different world to the waiting room he walked past on the ground floor.

His sneakers make that irritating squeaking sound against the hospital floor. So he makes an effort to slowdown, taking each step more carefully.

As he gets closer to room 702, he notices the door’s ajar and stops short when he hears an unfamiliar male voice.

He flattens himself against the wall before edging closer. He can’t see inside the room but he can hear the conversation.

“You borrowed a lot of money for all of this. And now you’re telling me you’re not coming back?”

The voice is higher-pitched, northern accent, he sounds about their age.

 “My mum’s got cancer. I can’t just leave her.” Danny says, he sounds exhausted.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Danny. I really am. But you told Paul that you just wanted a week off to come see her. You never said anything about staying.”

 “I left on bad terms with her, Louis. When she saw me, she couldn’t stop crying.” Danny sighs, “Me and my brother,” he pauses, “We’re all she’s got left.”

Jesus, Danny, Zayn thinks, what have you gotten yourself into?

“I can pay Paul back. I’ll just need more time, that's all. You know I’m good for it.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that, Danny.”

“Louis, I..." His voice cracks. "My mum will be back any minute now. Can we talk about this later?”

“I’m leaving tonight, Danny. Don’t make me take bad news back to Paul.”

There’s the sound of a chair scrapping against the floor, and Zayn quickly scuttles back, turns, and drops to his knee. He pretends to be tying his shoelace when he hears two sets of footsteps coming up behind him. He flicks his fringe out of his face and peers at the figures as they stop by the lift.

One of the guys is huge, and bald. Zayn thinks he might be a bodyguard of sorts. The other guy looks tiny by comparison. They have their backs to him but Zayn can tell that the smaller guy, who must be Louis, is quite young. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a navy blazer and grey trousers with the cuffs turned up. He’s fiddling with his phone while the big guy just stands there with his arms crossed.

When the lift doors open, Zayn’s on his feet. He power walks down the corridor and just makes it in before the lifts close.

He feels the big guy peering at him when he shuffles to the other side of the lift.

 Zayn is careful not to make eye contact.

The doors close and he stares at their dull, blurred reflections.

Louis is leaning against the wall, humming to himself, eyes still glued to his phone.

Zayn takes a stuttering breath. Oh God, what is he doing? Why did he follow them in here?

But he knows, deep down, he does know why. Knew it as soon as he knelt on the floor outside Danny’s mum’s hospital room.

Zayn says, “I’ll do it.”

Louis doesn’t look up from his phone, his thumbs darting back and forth. He doesn’t acknowledge Zayn in anyway.

For a second Zayn thinks he mustn’t have heard him but his own voice is still ringing in his ears and the silence inside the lift is almost suffocating him.

He stares at the numbers counting down to their destination.

5,4,3...

This was a phenomenally dumb idea. He should be grateful that they’re ignoring him. He was about to make the dumbest most idiotic decision in his whole life. He's just going to go home and spend the rest of his break catching up on coursework. Just the thought of it fills him with a heaviness that seems to weight him down from the inside.

..2,1.

When they reach the ground floor and the doors open, Louis pockets his phone and says, “Same time tomorrow, then.”

And then hewalks out, without even glancing at Zayn. The big guy lumbers after him.

Zayn stares after them, stunned.

 

Zayn goes back to the hospital, bypasses the same nurse, hits number 7, and then stops at the door he was loitering around yesterday. He peers through the small window, not sure what to expect.

Danny’s mum looks tiny in the bed. Danny’s sitting at her side, holding her hand. He’s hunched towards her, like he’s straining to hear what she’s saying.

The room is half-filled with balloons and flowers that weren’t there yesterday.

Zayn knocks.

When Danny opens the door, he doesn’t look surprised. Or happy. He doesn’t much look like anything, except tired. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Zayn can see the week-old stubble and the dark bags under his eyes.

They both don’t say anything for a moment.

Is he waiting for Louis? Does he ask Danny?

Danny steps back, turns and says, “Mum, Zayn’s here.”

Up close, Danny’s mum looks even smaller, if that’s even physically possible, and so, so fragile. She reminds him of a newborn bird. She’s pale, almost transluscent. She can barely lift her arms when Zayn approaches, but her smile reaches her eyes as Zayn leans over to press a kiss to her cool cheek.

“Look how you have grown,” she murmurs. “Look how handsome you are.”

Zayn smiles at her. He doesn’t have the words. What do you say to a woman who is dying? A woman who had fed him, held him close when he fell and scrapped his knee, laughed when he told his stupid jokes. A woman who, at one point in his life, had felt very much like a second mother. He wonders if she ever thought of him like another son.

He hopes not. Having one disappear from her life was more heartache than she ever deserved. He hopes she barely noticed when he stopped showing up.

Somewhere behind him, Danny says, “You should get some rest, mum.”

She doesn’t answer but her eyes flutter close.

Zayn kisses on her forehead and whispers, “Goodbye.”

 

Zayn follows Danny into the hallway.

Zayn’s itching for a cigarette.

Danny leans against the wall, looks at Zayn and says, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Danny tilts his head back until it bumps against the wall. “I don’t know,” he says. “For everything that happened. For everything that will happen.” He shrugs, “For everything.”

He hands Zayn a business card.

It’s a brown background with a gold serif typeface.

All it says is’ Paul’s’ and an address in South London, but no phone number.

He looks back at Danny but he’s staring at his shoes.

Zayn slides the card into his hoodie’s pocket, and walks towards the lift.

 “Zayn.”

Zayn stops but doesn’t turn around.

“Thank you.”

Zayn sticks his hand into his pocket and runs a finger across the edge of the card.

He says, “Goodbye, Danny.”

 

When Zayn gets to the pub a pretty blonde with big blue eyes is standing behind the counter.

“Hello!” She greets cheerily. “You must be Zayn. My name is Perrie.”

But before Zayn has a chance to reply, someone leaps up from behind the bar, throws his hands in the air and yells, “Surprise!”

“Holy shit!” Zayn stumbles back, clutching at his chest like a little old lady.

Perrie, who didn’t even flinch, rolls her eyes. “He likes to do that to everyone.”

“Welcome to Paul’s,” he says magnanimously, sweeping his arm out like he’s one of those girls presenting the prize on a game show.

Zayn realises then that that’s Louis.

“Louis Tomlinson,” he says, and holds out his arm.

“Zayn Malik,” he says warily, as they shake hands.

 Louis claps his other hand on top of Zayn’s, like they’re old friends. “Don’t worry, Zayn Malik,” he says with a smile that does a very good job of lighting up the dank interior. “Everything's going to be alright.”


	7. and i'm asking you to stay

Spending the afternoon texting Liam reveals two things to Zayn. The first is what Liam lacks in spelling ability he makes up with in exclamation marks and smiley faces, and the second, and most important, is Liam wants to have dinner tonight.

Zayn knows what he wears to the date is not important. But that doesn’t stop him from going to Perrie’s place to pick up the denim jacket she borrowed from him last week.

There was a bit of a tug-of-war at her doorway when she realised he needed it specifically for the night and wanted to know who he was seeing.

“Why do you specifically need your greaser jacket? Who are you trying to impress?”

“This isn’t the greaser jacket. The leather jacket is the greaser jacket!”

“Then why don’t you wear that one?”

“Perrie!”

He placated her with a promise he would tell her tomorrow, and she only let go after she made him pinky swear.

 

He’s only just gotten through the door of his flat when Harry calls him. He debates on whether he should just hang up on him but there’s enough of chance that it might be important.

“Yeah?”

“Zed!” He can almost hear Harry’s slow grin from here, “Just wanted to wish you luck for your date.”

Zayn frowns. “How do _you_ know?”

“I was there when he was texting you! He asked me what kind of foods you like. It was all very sweet.”

“Tell Zayn that Liam’s a gentleman and that he’ll insist on paying for everything but won’t expect anything in return!” He hears Louis shouting in the background. “Sexually, I mean! But remind him that Liam has been in prison for three years and—“

“I’m hanging up now,” Zayn says, as calmly as he can.

“But—“ Harry starts.

 

After all that, Zayn doesn’t even wear the jacket. It’s unseasonably warm out and he wasn’t feeling comfortable enough to pull off double denim.

He still thinks the greaser jacket is too over-the-top for what is essentially a quiet dinner, so he pulls on a red plaid shirt over a white tee.

He laughs when he walks out of his block to see Liam waiting for him in a blue plaid shirt buttoned up to his throat.

Liam has his hands shoved into the front pocket of his jeans and he’s looking a little shy but he laughs too.

 “Shall I go change?” Zayn asks, once their giggling fades.

“Nah,” Liam grins. “We’re sort of matching. I like it.”

 “Yeah,” Zayn grins back, “Me too.”

 

Liam takes him to this little Chinese place down a laneway  Zayn must have walked past a hundred times. He seems pretty chuffed that the place is still around.

“I used to come here a lot with the boys,” he tells Zayn when they slide into their seats. “Niall loves this place. He used to order...” Liam trails off, his smile dims.

“I love Chinese,” Zayn says. “It’ll have to be in my top three types of food.”

The corner of Liam’s lips quirk up, “Me too. I asked Haz where I should take you.”

The conversation steers into their favourite foods, and which nation’s they’d pick if they could only eat one type for the rest of their lives.

Zayn’s kind of rubbish with chopsticks. While Liam tries to teach him, Zayn drops a dumpling and splashes soy sauce everywhere.

“Sorry, sorry!”

Liam laughs, wiping off the droplets on his face. He then leans forward to clean up Zayn’s face.

 “This really got everywhere,” Liam chuckles as he daps the napkin across Zayn’s forehead and cheeks, and then under his eyes.

Zayn just watches Liam commit completely to the task of cleaning up a clumsy guy with the gentlest of touches.

When Liam’s eyes flit down and catches Zayn staring, he smiles.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.”

Zayn bites his lip, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks. He looks up at Liam through his eyelashes. “Thank you.”

“I think that’s all of it.” He gives Zayn a once over before pressing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

Zayn’s eyes flutter close as his heart cartwheels from one side of his chest to the other, and then back again.

When he opens them again, Liam’s settled back into his seat and is waving a waiter down. “I’ll get you a fork,” he says.

Under the table, their legs are pressed up against each other, from ankle to knee.

 

When Liam walks Zayn back to his flat, they’re walking so close to each other their shoulders bump into each other, hands brushing past, until Liam links their fingers together and looks at Zayn to make sure it’s okay.

Zayn just smiles and squeezes Liam’s fingers between his.

If they get any strange looks, neither notice.

 

Zayn leans against his door and says, “You should come in.”

Liam rests his hands on Zayn’s hips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ve got _The Dark Knight Rises_.” He puts one hand on Liam’s wrist and the other around Liam’s neck. “You haven’t seen that yet.”

“I haven’t,” Liam agrees as Zayn tugs him closer, and tilts his head up.

They kiss slow and languid. Liam’s hands have travelled up to cup Zayn’s face while Zayn’s travel down to pull Liam’s hips against his.

Liam groans when Zayn rocks up against him and Zayn takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth.

Liam pulls back for breath. “Jesus, _Zayn_.”They way Liam says his name sends a shiver from the soles of his feet to the top of his quiff and everywhere in between.

“We should go inside,” Zayn murmurs, though he is reluctant to be parted.

“Okay.”

It’s hard to concentrate on such menial tasks as putting your key into a lock when your brain is short-circuiting and Liam’s pressing kisses down the back of your neck.

Once inside, they lose whatever semblance of self-control they had. Clothes are yanked up or down, or just ripped off.

They stumble and fall onto the bed. Zayn reaches blindly for the lube and condoms in his bedside table.

The first time they fuck, it’s hard and fast, teeth and nails, grunts and moans. Liam curled over Zayn, his chest pressed against his back. Zayn gripping onto the headboard to keep from toppling over.

The second time, it’s slow and deep, and almost silent. Zayn on his back running soothing hands across the scratches down Liam’s sides and thighs, while Liam licked and kissed the bites across Zayn’s shoulders.

 

Liam pulls out slowly, and eases Zayn's legs onto the bed. He lies on his side next to Zayn who turns to look at him.

"Will you stay?"

Liam smiles softly, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. "I have nowhere else to go."

It almost sounds sad to Zayn's ears, but as his eyelids grow heavy he thinks, _Y_ _es, stay here. Stay with me._


	8. i've hit the ground before

“She was going to ask Jade out, yeah.” He explained to Liam when he scrunched his face up at the idea of going to a nightclub. “She had it all planned out, even had me running lines with her so she could memorize what to say. But she chickened out in the last second and said it was a whole group thing instead.”

Perrie had stared up at him with her big doe eyes, bottom lip jutting out, and Zayn had caved.

Liam agreed because he’d seen the way Perrie looked at Jade.

Zayn gave him a thank-you-blowjob.

When Liam was all pliant and boneless, Zayn curled up next to him, hooking his leg across his waist.

Liam’s absent-mindedly carded his hand through Zayn’s hair, eyelids heavy.

“She should just go for it.” Liam said quietly, already sounding like he was half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“If she really liked her,” Liam said, “She should just tell her.”

Zayn shifted onto his elbow, so he could prop himself up to look at Liam.

“If prison has taught me anything,” he smiled but there was a bitter twist to his lips, “time is precious.”

It was the first time Liam has ever mentioned anything about his past, besides Niall.

But before Zayn could ask any questions, Liam’s eyes slid shut and he was asleep.

Zayn knows it must be difficult for Liam to talk about his family or what he does for Paul, but sometimes Zayn can’t help but feel like it’s because Liam doesn’t trust him enough.

Every time he’s out with Harry or Louis and comes back with a tight smile and long silences, it hurts Zayn more than he can say.

 

The music’s too loud and repetitive, and he’s pretty sure this club is filled beyond capacity. This whole thing really isn’t his scene and as he tightens his grip on Liam’s hand - so he doesn’t get swallowed up by the writhing, sweaty half-naked bodies of barely legal teenagers – he knows it’s definitely not Liam’s thing either.

Perrie, fortunately, had the foresight to book them a private room. The music is muffled slightly when the door shuts behind them and Zayn sighs with relief. Liam lets go of his hand to catch Louis, who had leapt off the couch as soon as he spotted Liam.

“Alright, lads?” He grins as Liam ends up holding him like he’s a bride, and they’re about to step into their hotel room as a married couple for the first time.

Zayn rolls his eyes and it about to yank Louis out of Liam’s arms, because he seems to have thought the same thing, smacking loud kisses all across Liam’s face, when Harry sidles up and hands him a drink. “He’s had a bit of head start, I’m afraid.”

“Of course he has. Where’s Perrie?”

Harry points at the window, towards the dance floor where Zayn can barely make out the purple of Perrie’s hair and the flash of Jade’s red hair, catching under the lights.

“Jesy and Leigh-Anne are out there too. They are ‘wing-womaning her’, I believe is the phrase Leigh-Anne had used.”

“Ha,” Zayn smiles, “Bless.”

There’s a loud “Oomph” as Liam deposits Louis onto the couch. “I’m going to get a drink, babe. You alright?”

Zayn nods and holds up his glass.

Harry manhandles Louis into a position where he’s no longer flailing about and taking up most of the couch to himself, so he and Zayn can sit down.

Liam squeezes himself next to Zayn, and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“What’d you get?” Zayn sniffs at his drink.

“Just a coke.”

Zayn tucks his face into the crook of Liam’s neck, realises how smitten he must be that something like getting a non-alcoholic beverage at a fancy nightclub with a massive bar tab fills him with so much affection.

Over the top of him he can hear Harry and Liam murmuring, he can’t really make out what they’re saying but he’s content to feel the rumble against Liam’s chest.

 

Louis soon tugs him out from under Liam’s arm, telling Zayn to grind with him. Zayn laughs and says he needs, at least, another three drinks for that.

Louis sighs but follows Zayn to the bar, draping himself across his back as Zayn orders two gin and tonics.

He’s about to clink his glass with Louis’ when, from the corner of his eyes, he sees Liam and Harry suddenly on their feet. And before he can even turn his head to ask what’s wrong, they’re running out of the room.

Zayn and Louis put down their drinks and dash after them.

The music’s stopped and Liam’s out front, shoving bodies out of the way.

Zayn’s  having more of a difficult time moving through the crowd, who seem to be frozen to the spot, all facing the same direction. He’s straining on his tiptoes when Louis grabs his wrist and pulls him back.

When Zayn looks at him, he’s frowning.

“What?”

Louis doesn’t answer.

He follows Louis’ gaze and sees Harry and Liam on the raised platform of the main bar. Liam’s standing between the girls and four guys Zayn’s never seen before, while Harry and Jade are helping Perrie up from the floor.

Zayn feels his blood boil.

He lurches forward but Louis’ hold tightens, his nails digging into Zayn’s skin.

Zayn whirls around. “What the fuck?”

Louis just shakes his head.

Jade and the other girls crowd around Perrie protectively and Harry’s steps up beside Liam. Words are being exchanged but he can’t hear, not from where they’re standing.

“What’s going on?”

Louis leads him around to the side, rather than straight up towards the bar, pushing forward until their almost right behind the girls.

Then Louis reaches out for Jesy, who in turns reaches for Leigh-Anne, and like a chain of daisies the girls retreat into the crowd, hidden between Louis and Zayn.

Zayn wraps an arm around Perrie’s shoulders, feels her shaking beneath him. “Alright?” He murmurs.

She just nods, lips pressed tightly together like she can’t trust herself to speak.

 “We don’t want any trouble, lads!” One of the bartenders shout.

The tallest of the guys, with hair as dark as Zayn’s, just smirks, holds out his hands and says, “No trouble here. We’re just having a bit of fun. We just wanted to buy the girls a drink.”

The guy shifting behind him, Zayn notices, has his left hand bandaged.

“Back off, Siva.” Harry says, “You’re not welcome here.”

“This isn’t South London,” Siva replies, “And this isn’t the X-Factor. You guys don’t mean shite here.”

The tall guy’s eyes lock with Liam’s, “Right, Liam?”

Liam doesn’t say anything. But his hands are clenched into tight fists.

Another guy’s pushing his way to the front and when he gets to the bar, the others fallback to make way for him.

“Well, well, well.” He has a shaved head and he’s holding a glass bottle in one hand. “Look who it is. Superman’s come to save the day.” He takes a long drink from the bottle before slamming it onto the counter. “Again.”

He pushes off from the counter and takes a step forward.

“It’s been a while, Liam.” The guy smiles, slow and shark-like. Zayn wants to smack it off his face. “Three years, right?” He looks Liam up and down. “My, my. How you’ve grown.”

Zayn can’t see Liam’s or Harry’s faces from here but he notices Harry inching closer towards Liam, ready to drag him back if necessary.

“Did you miss me?”

“Get out of here, Max.” Liam says.

Max grins, like he had been expecting Liam to say that. “Why don’t you make me?” He sweeps his arms out to indicate the crowd of people staring up at them. “In front of all these people, all these witnesses. No backroom here for you to drag someone into, I’m afraid.”

“He should have learnt to keep his hands to himself.” Harry says flatly, eyebrows drawn. “Now he does. You’re welcome.”

Max’s eyes flick towards Harry for a moment before returning to Liam. The guy with the bandaged hand sinks back further, the tall guy puts his hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve called the police,” a man, Zayn can only assume is the manager, yells. “They’ll be here any minute now.” He says, eyes darting back and forth between Max and Liam.

“This isn’t over, Payne.”

“I went to prison for three fucking years.” Liam spits. Zayn has never seen Liam angry. “Of course this isn’t over.”

Siva and another guy have grabbed Max by the arm. “Let’s get out of here, Max. Feds are comin’.”

Harry’s already pulling Liam back into the crowd.

Louis leads them towards a back exit.

 Zayn tries to take Liam’s hand but Liam shoves him away without a glance.

 

Outside, Zayn holds Perrie tightly in his arms, resting his cheek on the top of her head as he watches Liam and Harry huddled together on the other side of the street. Louis’ still inside, smoothing things over with the club’s manager.

He only lets go when Jade appears beside him, suddenly shy and Perrie wriggles out of his arms to face her.

“I’m-I’m so sorry, Jade.”

Jade shakes her head, reaching out for Perrie’s hands. “You stood up for me.” She smiles and leans forward, their foreheads touching. “You stood up for me,” she says again. And then she kisses her.

Zayn turns away, gives them their moment.  He hunches into the corner of a closed shopfront and lights up a cigarette.

A minute later, Harry jogs up to him. “Josh is here to take the girls back to Perrie’s. He’ll stay with them for the night.”

Zayn nods and squashes out the cigarette against the brick wall.

“Come on,” Harry says, “We’ll take you home.”

Liam and Louis are already in the backseat. Louis seems to be trying to explain something to Liam with complicated hand gestures but Liam remains stone-faced, staring straight ahead.

Harry steers Zayn to the passenger seat.

Louis falls silent as soon as Zayn opens the door.

But after a stretch of silence says, “Some night, huh?”

“Yeah,” Zayn replies. He can see Liam’s face in the reflection of the window, watches him as he turns away.


	9. i hope it gets the better of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, guys. My laptop died and ugh. You guys don't need to hear the whole laborious tale. Thanks so much for reading and all the comments and kudos. :)

Zayn drives around aimlessly after he drops the money off at the pub. He doesn't want to go home and he hasn't heard from any of the boys.

He hasn't heard from Liam.  
  
They had let him out outside his block. Harry had smiled at him, small and tired. When Zayn had looked at Liam, he had just stared at his hands. Over the hunch of his back, Louis saluted with two fingers.  
  
Zayn isn't paying attention to where he's headed. It's not until he sees the prison looming up ahead, does he realise where he is.

He pulls over, and takes a deep breath.  
  
He woke up alone in bed with the last tendrils of dread from a bad dream he couldn't shake. He can't remember it but he knows there was running and shouting, like he was being chased or was chasing someone, and a sense of desperation that left his heart pounding and his skin covered in a sheen of cooling sweat.  
  
He texted Perrie. She told him Paul gave her a couple of days off, told him over and over that she was fine. And when she asked him if he was okay, he didn't reply.  
  
He's sick of people feeding him half-truths and non-answers. He's sick of being left in the shadows, like they didn't think he was strong enough to bear the truth.  
  
He tightens his grip on the steering wheel and tries to remember the directions Liam had rattled off to him all those weeks ago.  
  
He takes a couple of wrong turns but he finally turns into a familiar looking street and stops in front of the same house he had followed Liam into.  
  
He gets out of the car and knocks on the door, before he has a chance to change his mind.  
  
Maura looks pleased enough to see him, if not a little confused. She doesn't ask where Liam is, but her eyes dart over his shoulder like she's expecting him to appear.  
  
 She leads him to Niall's room while she inquires with harmless questions and Zayn tries his best to be pleasant.  
  
Niall's door is already half-open when they approach, he's already leaning back on his chair, curious to see his visitor.  
  
He pauses the video game and sets the controller on his lap. "Zayn?"  
  
Maura tells Niall she's just going to pop down to the shops. She then smiles at Zayn, squeezes his shoulder gently, then leaves.  
  
Niall pats the end of his bed and Zayn sits.  
  
After a moment of silence, when it becomes apparent that Zayn's not going to say anything, Niall asks, "Where's Liam?"  
  
It's a fair question, and Zayn was expecting it. He shrugs.  
  
Niall frowns, brows furrowed. "Zayn, is Liam in trouble?"  
  
Zayn bites his lip. He hears the concern bleeding into Niall's voice, he didn't mean to get him worried. "I don't know," he says honestly. "I don't know where he is."  
  
Niall sighs, and shifts in his seat. "What happened?"  
  
Zayn tells him about the night, about the almost-fight, about Max. He doesn't say anything about the way Liam wouldn't look at him. He's afraid to say it out loud.  
  
Niall doesn't say anything, waits for Zayn to finish. Then he leans back against his seat and says, "Max George. Well, fuck me."  
  
He doesn't like the tone in Niall's voice. Almost resigned. "How bad is it?"  
  
Resting his hand against the brace on his knee, Niall says, "Pretty bad." Niall's eyes flick towards Zayn's. "Liam didn't tell you?"  
  
It's pretty obvious, Zayn thinks, that Liam hasn't told him shite. That's why he's here, after all.  
  
"No," he says, wondering why Niall is making him say it. "He doesn't tell me anything."  
  
Niall smiles faintly, almost fond, and nods. "He thinks he's protecting you."  
  
"How?" It sounds so absurd to Zayn.  
  
"He thinks everything is his fault."  
  
Of course, Zayn thinks, that sounds like Liam. He slumps backwards, and leans against the wall. It's an uncomfortable position, his elbows digging into the mattress to help prop himself. But it feels nice, having something help hold him up.  
  
"Liam's family put in everything they had so Liam could follow his dream. So when he's knee gave out, they couldn't afford the surgery or the rehabilitation. And Liam felt like he let everybody down."  
  
Zayn closes his eyes, let's Niall's voice wash over him as he remembers the kid with the dumb hair and big dreams. His heart aches.  
  
"When Louis Walsh came around, Liam thought it was a second chance. But Liam's parents wanted nothing to do with Walsh. When he talked about a silent backer, everyone knew who he really meant. But Liam didn't care. He thought if he could just get to the Olympics, everything would be okay.  
  
"I told him I would be there, no matter what he decided. He seemed so happy, for the first time, after being sad for so long."  
  
Zayn's eyes flutter open when Niall falls silent. He watches as Niall sighs deeply and tilts his head up towards the ceiling.  
  
"Liam's parents were so angry when Liam told them what he did. They refused to come down to London with him. It hurt him a lot. But he kept saying it would all be okay in the end, over and over. Me and mum, we went with him. Our families had been friends since we were babies and my mum understood why his family had been so upset but she couldn't let Liam go by himself. And she knew that I would follow him." He smiles then, small and soft.  
  
"What about Max?" Zayn coaxes, feeling almost ashamed in having to break Niall out of whatever found memories he had cocooned himself in. "Where does he come in?"  
  
"Besides being the twat who fucked me knee?"  
  
Zayn flinches, he can't believed he didn't connect the dots earlier.  
  
Niall smiles turns sharp and hard. "Max George used to be the hot shit in boxing before Liam appeared. He was all brute strength and shit-talking the fans usually loved.  
  
"They circled each other but never had a fight until Manchester. People came for Max, mostly. But when they left, all they could talk about was Liam."  
  
"Liam won?"  
  
Niall cackles like Zayn had told a particularly funny joke. "Liam destroyed him. Max could barely lay a punch on him. Liam was too quick, too smart, just too good. It was humiliating for Max, especially after all the smack-talk he did leading up to the final."  
  
"And let me guess, Max holds grudges?"  
  
Niall lets out a low whistle, fingers digging into the frames of his brace. Zayn wonders if he notices what he's doing. "Oh, yeah. Max holds grudges. He runs for Piers Morgan now in North London, after boxing fizzled out for him. Once people realised he was a one-trick pony with no real talent.  
  
"I don't know if you heard about Piers Morgan and Simon Cowell falling out years back." Zayn shakes his head. "All you need to know now is that they despise each other and having been trying to undermine each other every since.  
  
"From Max, Piers heard Simon was backing Liam. And since Liam was favourite for the gold at the Olympics, Piers wanted Liam to fight for him. But Liam's fiercely loyal, even for people who don't really deserve it. So Piers decided to teach him a lesson."  
  
"So they attacked you?"  
  
A smile with an edge ghosts Niall's lips when he looks at Zayn. "We were at the X-Factor, Simon had wanted to speak to Liam right before we were going to leave. I want drunk and impatient. Liam kept telling me to wait for him, that it would only take a minute. I wanted a smoke, but it was drizzling out, so I took his snapback and went out back."  
  
Realisation hits Zayn like a tidal wave and he sits up. "They thought you were Liam. They went for the right knee."  
  
"If Piers Morgan can't have you, then Simon Cowell sure as hell can't."  
  
Zayn hunches over. "He thinks everything is his fault."  
  
  
Zayn is in a bit of a daze after that.

He doesn't remember much about leaving Niall's house, or driving home. But as he trudges up the stairs he spots a familiar figure slumped against his door.  
  
Liam rises to his feet as Zayn approaches.

Niall's voice swirls around his head like the gentle cycle of a washing machine.  
  
 _"Liam didn't want to see anyone when he was locked up. Not even his family. Not after his mum's visit, when she just sat there and cried._  
  
 _"This isn't the life Liam wanted, Zayn, obviously. But it's the only one he's got. We're all he's got."_

He wonders if Niall called or if Liam came to him on his own accord.

"I'm sorry, Zayn. There's so much--"  
  
Zayn shakes his head. "It doesn't matter." He touches him, gently, on the cheek when he notices the swelling and the split lip. There's blood on his shirt.

All that matters is now, he wants to say.  
  
"You can ask me anything. Anything."  
  
Zayn takes Liam's hand, sees the bruised and battered knuckles.  
  
"Come on," he says, "Let's go inside."  
  
Zayn makes tea, and cleans up Liam the best he can.  
  
He puts in _The Dark Knight Rises_ and they snuggle up on the couch.  
  
When the credits roll, Zayn's resting his head on Liam's shoulder.  
  
"Must be hard," he says, " the things you have to do to be the hero, to protect the ones you love."  
  
"I wouldn't know," Liam says softly, his fingers carding through Zayn's hair. "I'm the bad guy."  
  
Zayn squeezes his eyes shut, his heart aches like it was on the receiving end of Liam's fists.  
  
What a world we live in, he thinks, where Liam Payne is the bad guy.


	10. because everytime you see them happy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! Thanks for all the comments and kudos! :)

"I want to draw you." Zayn's leaning against his opened window, smoking a cigarette.  
  
Liam's naked, sprawled on the bed. The light from the TV flickers, highlighting the cut of his jaw, the dip of his collarbone, the curve of his shoulders. He yawns and stretches, Zayn follows the lines of his arms and the curve of his lips. He is sculpted like a Greek god, Bernini himself would have wept.  
  
"Oh," Liam says, scratching the jut of his hip, slow and deliberate. The wench. "Like one of your French girls?"  
  
"Really? Are you quoting Titanic?"  
  
Liam waggles his eyebrows. "Nothing gets me in the mood more than remembering hundreds of people dying tragically at sea."  
  
Zayn smirks and stubs out his cigarette. He crawls back into bed, kissing his way up Liam's body.  
  
"No French girls could ever compare."  
  
"My, my, Mr Malik." He bats his eyes. "You certainly have a way with words."  
  
Zayn growls and pushes up to capture his lips. Liam pulls away, wrinkling his nose.  
  
"Like making out with an ashtray."  
  
Zayn grins, "Want me to stop?"  
  
Liam frowns and grips the back of Zayn's neck tightly. "No."  
  
  
Liam's knuckles heal and the bags under his eyes fade. And even though he's given Zayn permission, Zayn doesn't ask. Doesn't ask anything. Zayn knows Liam must have had to pull a lot of strings to get himself and Zayn some time off, so they can stay wrapped up in each other without interruption. Zayn knows this can't last, so he savours it, commits it to memory, every last drop.  
  
  
They only emerge from their cocoon of hedonism, after Louis threatened to kick down the door and hose them off like they were dogs in heat - his words. They go to Harry's for dinner. Zayn's a little wary. He's seen Harry topple into a fountain once, completely sober. He's not sure if he can trust him with sharp implements and an open flame. But Liam insists that he's very good.  
  
When Harry opens the door, his frilly pink apron and face are smeared with sauce.  
  
Zayn cuts a look at Liam who just shrugs and smiles. "It's still Hazza though, ini't?"  
  
"What?" Harry asks when he ushers them in.  
  
"There's a little something on your face." Liam points to his own face. "And by 'a little' I mean a lot. And by 'your face' I mean everywhere."  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes. "Is there any left to actually be eaten?"  
  
"Hey, now." Harry frowns, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. "No seconds with that kind of attitude, young man."  
  
Louis sticks his head out from the kitchen. "And no dessert! We have cupcakes."  
  
Liam laughs because Louis face is covered with just as much sauce.  
  
Harry and Louis turnout to be pushovers and Zayn gets his second helping of lasagne ("Made from scratch!") and cupcakes (Store-bought because Louis had forgotten he was in charge of desserts).  
  
"What are you getting for Niall's birthday?" Zayn's stretched out on the couch, his head resting on Liam's lap and his legs sprawled across Harry's thighs.  
  
"Same two things we get him every year." Louis curled up on the armchair like a smug little cat.  
  
"Nandos and beer." Harry and Liam say at the same time.  
  
Zayn blinks. "Seriously?"  
  
"It's all he ever asks for." Liam says, rubbing his thumb up and down the side of Zayn's neck. It's a little distracting.  
  
"This better not be some joke where I'm the only one who turn up with a bag of Nandos and a pack of beer like a right wanker."  
  
Louis' giggles do little to reassure him.  
  
  
There's barely enough room in the back of Louis car for Liam, Zayn and the boxes of food their holding. Louis' has bought a stupid amount of balloons decorated with four-leaf clovers, leprechauns and shamrocks. And even one with Niall's face. Zayn ends up half on Liam's lap with the boxes stacked on top of him.  
  
Harry peeks around from the passenger seat and says, "I made him a cake."  
  
Louis snorts.  
  
Harry glares. "Shut up!"  
  
"Wait till you see it."  
  
  
Niall lights up when he seems them arrive with cake and balloons. But it pales in comparison to the look he gets when he sees the beer and Nandos.  
  
Liam nudges Zayn with his shoulder, nods and says, "Seriously."  
  
A stream of familiar and unfamiliar faces stream in and out through the day, bringing more food and more beer.  
  
They eat, they drink, they laugh.  
  
Paul stops by, at some point, with two bottles of good whiskey, and then takes Maura out so she doesn't have to hang around in a house full of drunk idiots.  
  
Zayn's feeling nice and buzzed when he sees Andy approach Liam in the backyard. He says something which has Liam glancing back towards where he, Ed and Jesy are sitting. Zayn quickly looks away, and points to something on Ed's phone, even though he wasn't paying attention. When he turns back Andy's slipping an envelope into Liam's hand.  
  
Zayn frowns to himself but shakes it off. He picks up his beer and drains the last of it in one long gulp. When he puts his empty bottle back on the table Liam's laughing with Harry and Leigh-Anne.  
  
Josh and Stan, and Perrie and Jade start a game of beer pong. And to the surprise of no-one, Liam is overly-competitive. It still stings though, when Liam dumps him as a partner for Harry.  
  
"Sorry, babe." He says pressing a kiss to his forehead. "This is a matter of honour."  
  
"But it's beer pong!" Zayn points out.  
  
Harry can only pat his shoulder sympathetically before pushing him out of the way.  
  
The grand final, determined in a convoluted way Zayn couldn't follow, is between Louis and Niall ("Team Nouis!", Louis had insisted they be called) and Harry and Liam ("Lirry?" Harry offered and Liam shook his head).  
  
Zayn's allegiance is torn. He wants Liam to win, of course. But he doesn't want him to win in a partnership that isn't with him. He also wants Niall to win because it's his birthday but that would also mean Louis would win and he's a terribly ungracious winner.  
  
Team Not-Lirry's last bounce is up to Harry. Liam massages his shoulders and whispers into his ear while Harry nods seriously.  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes.  
  
On the other-side of the table, Louis and Niall are being as disruptive and distracting as possible.  
  
At some point Niall had lost his shirt and someone (Louis, probably) swiped HP Sauce across his cheeks like war paint.  
  
Chewing on a chicken wing, Zayn is suddenly glad he was dropped.  
  
Harry positions himself, takes a deep breath, and lets go.  
  
The end is controversial and divisive. Team Not-Lirry claim Louis' hip bumped into the table and therefore threw off the trajectory off the ball. Louis, of course, denies it.  
  
Lou the referee, everyone agreed she would be the best and fairest, calls the shot a miss and Team Nouis are declared winners.  
  
There's a roar of approval from the crowd. Niall was the fan favourite, considering this is his party and all. He's promptly engulfed in a mass of bodies and Zayn worries for his knee.  
  
Harry and Liam sulk but bow out gracefully.  
  
Zayn welcomes him with open arms. "You're still a winner to me, babe."  
  
Liam laughs. Zayn pulls him closer so he can whisper, "I would have totally made that shot."  
  
  
  
They all gather around the Harry-made cake, Louis looking positively gleeful.  
  
Harry removes the lid and... silence.  
  
"What..." Liam trails off, mouth opening and closing but no other words come out.  
  
"This is the most horrifying thing I've ever seen." Stan says.  
  
"Isn't it?" Louis asks, grinning as he looks at all the stunned faces.  
  
"I'm not very artistic." Harry says, "But I promise it will taste lovely."  
  
"This is brilliant, Haz!" Niall wraps an arm around Harry's shoulders. He beams back at him. "Looks just like me."  
  
"There's no hair."  
  
"Or mouth."  
  
"Or ears."  
  
"Or eyebrows."  
  
"I ran out of icing!"  
  
"But if you look closely here..." Louis says, pointing.  
  
 And Niall should really know better than to lean closer to the cake but nobody warns him when Louis shoots out a hand and pushes his face into the cake.  
  
Everyone cheers.  
  
"My cake!" Harry mourns, but he's laughing.  
  
Niall flails before straightening up. "You were right, Haz."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's delicious."  
  
Before Harry can respond, Niall smashes a handful of cake against his mouth.  
  
Zayn immediately backs out of the way before anyone can get cake in his hair.  
  
Liam finds him later, tucked next to Leigh-Anne and Jesy.  
  
He's holding a paper plate with a rough piece of cake on it. Zayn fixes him with a stare and Liam holds up his free hand in surrender.  
  
"I come in peace." He says. "It is very good."  
  
He has icing down his neck and on the front of shirt.  
  
"Anymore left?" Leigh-Anne asks.  
  
"Should be. Otherwise you can lick it off Niall's face." Liam grins when the girls laugh. "You can have some of this if you want."  
  
"Nah," Jesy says, standing up. "Share it with Zaynie. He could do with some fattening up."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
She holds a hand out to Leigh-Anne, before heading off towards the kitchen.  
  
Liam flops into the spot the girls just vacated and holds up the cake.  
  
"No more forks, but we'll make do."  
  
"You don't use a fork to eat cake,"  
  
Liam ignores him. "Here," he says, using two fingers to scoop a bit up.  
  
Zayn looks at his fingers and the back at Liam's face.  
  
"I don't know where your hands have been," he grumbles. But that doesn't stop him from leaning forward and sucking Liam's fingers into his mouth.  
  
The cream melts against his tongue and it is very, very good.  
  
Zayn looks up at Liam but he's too busy staring at the stretch of Zayn's lips around his fingers. Zayn sucks them in deeper, down to the second knuckle. His tongue takes its time licking off ever bit of icing, and when he finally pulls back it's with a wet pop.  
  
Liam can only blink at him.  
  
"Oh, wow. OK, then."  
  
"Niall's room?"  
  
"Niall's room."  
  
  
  
It's almost midnight, and there's only a handful of them left. Most of them are in the kitchen, helping to clean as much as they can.  
  
Zayn slumps onto the couch, while Harry and Liam drag out the last of the rubbish.  
  
Niall's flopped out like a starfish on the floor. His face and neck covered in lipstick from when the girls said their goodbyes.  
  
"Oi." Louis nudges his side with an outstretched foot. "Can't fall asleep here, birthday boy." He says cheerily but does little to actually help.  
  
Liam strides in and says, "I'll take him to bed." He scoops a mumbling Niall into arms like he were light as a small kid.  
  
Louis hums appreciatively. "I love it when he's all big and strong. I bet he's a demon in the sack. Right, Zayn?"  
  
Zayn gives him the V while he watches Liam's silhouette disappear around the corner.  
  
"We should go," Zayn says. Harry mumbles something before slouching against Zayn. His curls tickle Zayn's nose and gets into his mouth. He tolerates this until he feels the tell-tale sensation of drool sliding down his neck. "Get off, you Great Dane." Zayn shoves Harry away. He slides agreeably to the other end of the couch.  
  
Across the room, Louis giggles and then stops abruptly, frowning. "I'll call a taxi. I don't think any of us are fit to drive," he says, rubbing his eyes.  
  
Zayn wipes his neck with the sleeve of his shirt. "I don't think Liam's drunk."  
  
"He doesn't have a licence." Louis blinks rapidly at his phone, like he's trying to get something out of his eyes.  
  
"I'll go get Liam."  
  
Louis waves him off.  
  
Zayn stumbles towards Niall's room. He leans against the doorway when he sees Liam and Niall lying on the bed, Niall curled up towards, and clinging to his shirt like a baby monkey. Liam's fingers carding through his hair. Zayn can't quite make out his expression. The light from the hallway lights up Niall's face but casts Liam's in shadow.  
  
"Ready, babe? Taxi's comin'."  
  
Liam just nods and presses a kiss to Niall's forehead. "Goodbye, Niall." Then he presses their foreheads together. "I love you." It's barely a whisper but Zayn hears it like Big Ben is tolling the hour.  
  
Liam tells the boys he loves them all the time.But these words are weight down with a sadness that cuts through his drunken haze and feels like a punch to the guts.  
  
Zayn ducks back from the door and leans against the wall. He shakes his head to try and clear it, instead he feels the beginnings of a headache. _  
_  
Liam gently untangles himself from Niall's limbs. When he reaches Zayn, he notices his sickly pallor and asks if he's alright.  
  
Zayn nods. And then quietly he asks, "Are you?"  
  
"Of course." Liam tilts his chin up and kisses him softly. "Of course."  
  
Zayn closes his eyes.  
  
  
Liam groans when he sees Harry's prone form. "I'm not carrying him. He's heavier than he looks. Where's Louis?"  
  
"Dunno."  
  
Liam leaves Zayn with the job of waking up Harry while he looks for Louis.  
  
Zayn's only just got a grip on the collars of Harry's jacket when Liam returns and says, "Louis' throwing up in the bathroom," before veering into the kitchen.  
  
From the corner of his eyes, he spots Liam sticking something onto the fridge. His grip on Harry tightens.  
  
Liam comes out with a glass of water and goes back towards the bathroom.  
  
When he comes back out, he's got an armful of Louis and Zayn's in the middle of shaking a mostly unresponsive Harry.  
  
"Definitely can't carry him now," Liam says. "And the taxi's outside."  
  
Zayn watches Liam's retreating back before looking back at the fridge.  
  
He lowers Harry back onto the couch and walks into the kitchen.  
  
There's a white envelope held in place by a photo-magnet of Niall and his mum. 'Maura' is all it says, written in Liam's loopy handwriting.  
  
It's not sealed.  
  
Zayn flips it open and pulls out two one-way plane tickets to Ireland.  
  
His heart sinks.  
  
 _"Do you miss your family?"  
  
They're eating Indian and Spider-Man 3 is playing in the background. They stopped watching it about 20 minutes in. Even with Liam's easygoing nature, he agreed the film is rubbish.  
  
Zayn puts his plate down, wipes his mouth with a napkin, then puts his hands on his knees.  
  
Liam doesn't look at him, instead he stares at his lamb curry and rice. He pushes it around with his fork.  
  
"Yeah," Zayn finally says. "More than I would have thought."  
  
Liam nods. "What did you tell them?"  
  
"That I'm interning at some fancy private school."  
  
Liam huffs a laugh and Zayn grins.  
  
"I think they know though," Zayn continues, sobering. "I think we're just all pretending with each other."  
  
Liam puts down his fork, and finally looks at Zayn. "I miss them. I miss them so much." He sighs, rubs his palms against the rough denim of his jeans. "It broke my heart to see my mum cry, while I sat in a prison uniform. I couldn't bear it."_ _He bites his lip, eyes darting back to the table._ _"I wish I could protect the people I love." He takes a shaky breath. "But all I can do is keep them far away from me."  
_  
Zayn feels the dread he had been keeping at bay claw back into his bones.  
  
He should have known, he should have fucking known. This is the calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niall's cake was inspired by a recent self-portrait Niall drew. You guys should check it out. It's hilarious.


	11. we have come so far and gone nowhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your patience! here, have an extra-long chapter.

Andy gets jumped outside a strip club in Soho. Zayn knows this because Harry comes banging and yelling outside his door at 3am. When Liam answers, bleary-eyed and just in his pants, he at least has the decency to look mildly abashed.

"You weren't answering your phone," he says.

“More like honeytrapped,” Louis explains when he turns up an hour later with a roughed-up looking Andy in tow.

(Liam’s pulled on a pair of sweatpants by then, after Harry politely asked him to.)

Zayn doesn't know much about Andy. He's Liam's friend, the oldest beside Niall, who followed Liam to London after stomping around Wolverhampton aimlessly for a year without him. So he can't be half bad or as stupid as he looks. But from what Zayn’s gleaned, he's obnoxiously loud and aggressively arrogant. He can easily imagine Andy rubbing someone the wrong way just by opening his big mouth.

But the timing of it is all too convenient. Even though neither Harry nor Liam mentioned any names, the significant looks they had been passing each other did not go unnoticed by Zayn.

“Honeytrapped?” Liam raises an eyebrow and Andy scowls, clearly unhappy with whatever Louis is about to say.

“Romeo over here was bonking one of Max’s girl.”

Harry rolls his eyes, while Liam just shakes his head.

“Fuck, Liam.” Andy says. He’s holding an icepack to his nose. One eye is swollen shut. His voice comes out more nasally than usual and it instantly grates on Zayn’s nerves. “You think I would have done it if I knew? As if I would want Max’s sloppy seconds.”

Harry winces at the choice of words but refrains from commenting.

“What’s her name?” Liam looks more exasperated than angry. Zayn figures he’s used to Andy thinking more with his cock than his head.

“Does it matter?”

“I’d like to have a name.” Firmer this time, eyes locking with Andy’s.

Andy falters, turns his gaze to his feet. “She goes by Lilo.”

Louis smirks. “Classy.”

“Was Max there?”

Andy shakes his head. “Shiva was. Could hear the bastard laughing when they knocked me to the ground.”

They fall silent then. All of them lost in their own thoughts, mulling over the events of the night, trying to figure out what to do next.  
  
“‘M going to make some tea,” Zayn says. He figures it’s going to be a long night.

A murmur of agreement follows and Liam gives his knee a quick squeeze. He shuffles into the kitchen and starts sorting out the mugs. He only has four but he figures he’ll share with Liam, even though he takes it two sugars too many.

When he’s filling the kettle he hears Liam say, "Does Paul know?"

"Not yet," Louis replies. “I say we’ve got a couple of hours before he finds out.”

“How mad do you think he’ll be?” Andy asks.

“Pretty fucking mad,” Harry says, arms crossed. “He wasn’t happy with what happened at the club.”

“I wasn’t even there! She’s just some bird. She doesn’t mean anything to me. I think everyone's overreacting.”

Zayn switches on the kettle and leans against the counter and looks at the scene before him.

Harry and Liam are on the couch, Louis is perched on the armrest next to Harry. Andy sits opposite them on Zayn’s coffee table. He looks like a man on trial, facing a jury of his peers.

Quietly, Louis says, “You think this is about the girl?” His eyes flit from Harry to Liam and then, finally, rests on Andy. “I’m sure Max treats them more like objects than people and he doesn’t like sharing, but this? Now?” Louis looks back at Liam. “He’s goading you.”

Liam turns to Louis, his face carefully blank.

“He’s calling you out, Liam.”

The kettle whistles then, loud and piercing and everyone looks in Zayn’s direction.

Zayn twists away, dropping a teabag into each mug and filling it with boiling water. His hands are shaking but no-one else can see it.

He brings the mugs, two at a time, and then the milk and sugar.

There’s a mumble of thanks and Zayn just nods as he tucks himself back under Liam’s arm. He rests his head on Liam’s shoulder and wonders if Liam can feel how fast his heart is beating.

Everyone is looking at Liam, but Liam’s staring at the mug in his hands. His fingers are curled tightly around the handle.

“We all go to Paul’s first thing,” he finally says. “Now finish your tea and get out.”

At the door, Andy lingers. “I’m sorry, Liam. God, I’m so fucking sorry.” It’s the first time Zayn’s heard Andy sound contrite.

Liam puts a hand on his shoulder. “This is on Max,” he hesitates. “And me. I’m sorry you got caught up in this.”

Andy shakes his head. “I’ll follow you to the end’s of the world, Liam.”

Liam pulls Andy into a loose hug, wary of his injuries. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Zayn rinses out the mugs in the sink, already feeling his stance against Andy softening.

He hears the door click shut and then the soft padding of Liam’s bare feet towards him. He closes his eyes when Liam’s arms wrap around him, tugging him close.

He feels the solid muscles of Liam’s bare chest against his back, and the warm puffs of breath on his neck. He lets out a shuddery breath when Liam kisses him, just under his ear.

Neither of them say a word, only taking quiet comfort in each other’s touch.

 

When Zayn wakes up from his fitful sleep, Liam’s gone.  
  
Zayn spends the day mostly distracted. Luckily, his job doesn’t require higher brain functions and he’s able to go through his rounds on autopilot.  
  
Perrie had been uncharacteristically reserved when he stopped by to pick up his list and hadn’t cheered up much when he returns in the afternoon.  
  
“They still in there?”  
  
“Nah, left about an hour ago.”  
  
“And?”  
  
She shrugs. She’s cutting up lemons even though the container by her elbow is overflowing. “No-one said anything to me.”  
  
“Right.” Zayn slides the envelopes to her, no-one else is in the pub so there’s no need to be discreet.  
  
She wipes her hands on the dishcloth hanging over her shoulder before putting the envelopes in the secret compartment behind the sink.  
  
Zayn raps his knuckles against the counter. “Right,” he says again. “I’ll see you.”  
  
He startles when she grabs him then, fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist.  
  
Her eyebrows are drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Zayn.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
Perrie takes a deep breath, her nails digging into his skin.  
  
“Ever since Liam got out. I mean, I’m glad he’s out, honestly. What happened to him was something awful. But ever since, it’s like everyone’s been holding their breath, yeah.” She pauses, like she’s unsure how to continue. “He’s got a temper, a terrible temper. It doesn’t come out often but when it does...” She trails off and bites at her bottom lip. “Him and Max have been going at each other for so long, Zayn. Just pushing and pushing each other.” She looks at him like she’s waiting for an answer but Zayn doesn’t know what to say, didn’t even know there was a question. She sighs. “ Just... please be careful, yeah?”  
  
Zayn frowns. “Liam would never hurt me.”

  
“Oh, I know!” Her other hand clutches at his elbow. “I know. Liam’s so brave, and so strong, and so, so loyal but nobody can get under Liam’s skin like Max can. Do you know what I mean?”  
  
He doesn’t not really. Zayn squeezes the hand on his elbow. “I’ll be careful.” Her eyes search his face like she’s looking for something more. “I promise,” he reassures her.  
  
She finally lets him go, but the uncertainty is still in her eyes when he looks back over his shoulder to wave goodbye.

  
  
Liam’s in his flat when he gets in. He’s leaning out the window, one of Zayn’s cigarette dangling from his lips.  
  
“Uh oh,” he says, taking the cigarette out to blow a plume of smoke. “Busted.”  
  
Zayn takes a moment to admire Liam’s silhouette against the setting sun.  
  
“This is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
Zayn’s by Liam’s side in mere seconds, nose pressed against Liam’s jaw and inhaling the smoky scent from his skin. It’s intoxicating.  
  
He steals the cigarette from Liam and takes his own drag of it.  
  
“How’d it go?”  
  
“About as well as you’d expect.”  
  
“Was Paul really mad?”  
  
Liam shakes his head. “More disappointed.”  
  
Zayn hums. “That sounds worse.”

Liam chuckles. Zayn adores the sound. “It kind of is.”  
  
“So what happens now?” He reaches out and stubs the cigarette against the brick wall.  
  
“Nothing,” Liam says flatly. “We do nothing.”  
  
Zayn feels the relief surges through him. He turns into Liam to hide his smile.  
  
“‘M going to take a shower,” he mumbles against Liam’s shoulder.  
  
He’s kicked off his shoes and is tugging his shirt over his head when Liam says his name in a way that freezes him to the spot. He finally yanks off the shirt, and looks at Liam.  
  
Liam’s tapping his fingers against the window sill (it always makes Zayn think that maybe Liam used to play the piano) and he’s staring at a spot just over Zayn’s shoulder.  
  
“I also spoke to Paul,” he says slowly, “about you.”  
  
Zayn’s eyes are wide, blinking owlishly. Did he tell Paul about them?  
  
“Your debt’s been cleared.”  
  
The feeling of relief evaporates like the smoke of a extinguished cigarette. “What?”  
  
Liam stays silent and Zayn takes a step towards him, his shirt dropping from his hand. “Liam, what did you do?”  
  
“Paul and I worked it out,” he says, still not looking at Zayn.  
  
“You and Paul.”  
  
Liam rubs a hand over his head, hunching in on himself. “It’s done,” he says softly. “There’s no reason for you to stay here anymore.”  
  
Zayn feels like he’s been thrown into the ocean, the moment of panic when he remembers he can’t swim.  
  
Zayn splutters. "No reason?"  
  
“It’s not safe here, Zayn.”  
  
“You don’t think I know that? You think I’ve been walking around with my eyes shut and my fingers jammed into my ears?”  
  
“Zayn, I’m doing this for you.”  
  
“Really?” And Zayn almost wants to laugh. “Well, thank you for consulting me.”  
  
“Jesus, Zayn!” Liam pushes off from the window sill, back straight, shoulders back. “I’m trying to help you. Why would you want to stay?”  
  
"Because I--" Zayn has to literally bite his tongue. He doesn't want to say it, not like this. He doesn't want to shout it in anger, doesn’t want to use it like a weapon. He swallows it down.  
  
Instead, he shouts, "You think I'm getting some secret thrills by fucking around with some two-bit gangster? Some washed-up golden boy?”  
  
The words explode out of him with such force, it catches him off guard. It’s like a volcano everyone had been written off as dormant. He had kept everything buried so deeply inside of himself, it was only a matter of time. And there was only one way out.  
  
Liam twists away, like the words physically lashed him. And Zayn would feel awful about it if he wasn’t so fucking mad.  
  
Zayn expects Liam to be angry, expects him to yell, maybe even move towards him.  
  
But Zayn watches Liam fold in on himself. "You don't belong here, Zayn.” He sounds exhausted.  
  
The fight fizzles out of Zayn. _The kid with the big dreams, the Olympic-bound athlete, the newly released street enforcer... the boy who likes Batman._ "Neither do you."  
  
Liam shakes his head. He looks up, and they stare at each other from across Zayn’s tiny flat. "I have no where else to go.”  
  
Zayn takes a shaky breath. “Come with me.”  
  
Liam smiles then, the tiniest flicker. “If I could.”  
  
Zayn closes the distance between them and gently rests his forehead against Liam’s.  
  
“Please don’t push me away.”  
  
  
Zayn undresses Liam slowly, takes his time in pressing his mouth to ever bare patch of skin. On the bed, he pushes Liam onto his back. He takes off the rest of his own clothes and carefully straddles Liam’s hips. The kiss long and languid, hands roaming across their bodies like they’re discovering each other for the first time.  
  
Zayn reaches over to his side table, and rummages through his draw. He pulls out half a bottle of lube, and after some consideration, leaves the condoms behind.  
  
He slicks up his fingers and starts to prepare himself.  
  
Liam watches him with half-lidded eyes.  
  
When he’s ready, he positions himself over Liam.  
  
"Babe," Liam’s hands grabs his hips and holds him in place. "Condom?"  
  
Zayn closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm clean," he says. He's never had sex with anyone without a condom. Had himself tested at uni and hasn’t had sex with anyone but Liam since.  
  
It takes a moment for Liam to realise what Zayn's saying. "Me too." He says softly. "Zayn, I swear."  
  
Zayn leans over and kisses him. "I trust you."  
  
Zayn sinks onto Liam and tries to go slow, he knows neither of them will last long, not like this.  
  
Liam's eyes are squeezed shut. His grip on Zayn's thighs is so tight it'll leave bruises, letting Zayn dictate the rhythm.  
  
"Liam," he pants. "Look at me."  
Liam obeys. Their eyes lock. Zayn feels it blooming in his chest.  
  
Just say it, Zayn thinks, just tell him.  
  
He doesn’t.  
  
Liam's mouth is open, breath hot and ragged, lips pink and wet. Zayn leans down to kiss him. "Harder," he says, breathless. "More." Liam groans and then snaps his hips up, faster and faster. His sweat-soaked skin is making it difficult for Zayn to get a grip on, so he digs his nails into Liam's shoulders.  
  
Liam sits up suddenly, and Zayn gasps when Liam sinks in deeper. He shifts to his knees, holding Zayn in position, arms wrapped around his waist, and gently lowers Zayn flat on his back. He licks into his mouth, slow and easy, taking his time.  
  
Zayn arches off the bed. "Liam, please." He whispers against his lips, his heels digging into the small of Liam's back. "Please." He hooks Zayn's knees over his shoulders and fucks him hard and fast.  
  
When Liam comes, he chants Zayn's name like it's a prayer, like an absolution.


	12. someone had to draw the line (i)

Zayn is with Louis at Ed’s when Louis gets the call. He’s holding Louis’ blazer and the phone is in his pocket. He glances at the screen when he hands it over. Harry. He can tell from the grim set of Louis’ jaw that, after his initial cheerful greeting, it’s not good news Louis is receiving. But, he supposes, when is it ever?  
  
“Sorry, Ed.” Louis says when he’s hung up, handing the phone back to Zayn.  
  
Ed just nods. They’re both out the door as soon as he’s done wrapping up Louis’ half-inked compass.  
  
Zayn refrains from asking any questions because Louis’s face is carefully neutrally, and no good has ever come from that expression. Louis is a man with bright, clear eyes and a sharp, clever tongue. He could greet you with an easy smile and threaten your life in the same warm breath.  
  
Out of the lot of them, it might be the easiest to underestimate Louis. He’s shorter, smaller-framed, and takes care in his appearance. He likes the finer things in life - designer jeans, fancy colognes and sweet-smelling hair gels. Louis is not one to get his hands dirty. As far as Zayn knows, Louis has never had to put a finger on another person but as far as Zayn knows, he’s never had to.  
  
Mostly, Zayn knows this: If Louis wants you to know something, you will know it when he deems fit.  
  
But when he starts recognising the streets leading to Niall’s house, Zayn’s heart sinks. He realises he’s still clutching Louis’ jacket when his hands fist tightly into the material.  
  
“Louis,” he starts but then he sees it. The smoke is thick and black, billowing into the sky, marring the deep blue like spilt ink. “Fuck! Louis.”  
  
Louis cuts his eyes to him, pressing down on the accelerator. “They’re alright.”  
  
The words do little to comfort Zayn but he sinks back silently into his seat.  
  
When they finally reach Niall’s house, firefighters are already there. But it’s clear, even to them, the house is a lost cause. And the firefighters are just trying to contain it and stop it from spreading to the neighbouring houses.  
  
Police have cordoned off the area and quite a few people have gathered to watch, drawn to the burning light like moths.  
  
It’s the brightest orange Zayn has ever seen. It lights up the blackened shell of the house with a terrible roar. The glassless front windows stare back at him like emptied eye sockets. The front door has burnt away and flames spit out, beckoning him closer like a siren song. Even from this distance he can feel the heat of it. There is a terrifying beauty to it, Zayn thinks as Louis drags him through the gawking mob. It burns everything it touches, not because of any malicious intent or twisted satisfaction but, because it has to. It’s the only thing it knows, the whole reason for its existence.

“Maura!” Louis shout snaps Zayn out of his thoughts and he feels awful for admiring something that is destroying the home of his friend.  
Someone’s thrown a blanket over Maura’s shoulders and she looks so small and lost against the backdrop of the inferno blazing behind her. A police officer is standing with her, a notebook in hand. He seems to be doing most of the talking, she stares past him.

“Maura!” Louis shouts again, when they get closer.

She turns towards them but it seems like it takes her a moment to recognise their faces.

“Oh, Louis.” She says, holding out her hand.

Louis takes it and pulls her into a hug. “Harry called me.” She murmurs to her. “He and Liam are on their way now.”

The officer turns to them curiously. “Are you friends of the family?”

“Yes,” Louis says. “Friends of the family.”

They shake hands.

“I don’t know what’s happened.” Maura says. “We were out having a lovely lunch when our neighbour called. He said he heard an explosion and when he looked out his window...” She gestures towards her house, words failing her. “I suppose I must have left the stove on.” She says softly. Over the top of her head, Louis and Zayn exchange glances.

Zayn squeezes her shoulder, looks around, and asks, “Where’s Niall?”

Maura blinks up at him, like she hadn’t realised he was there.

“He tried to run into the house. They didn’t want him to hurt himself.” She turns towards an ambulance and Zayn spots a tuft of blond hair sticking out the front of a black snapback.

“I’ll go check on him.”

Maura nods, turning her attention back to the police officer.

“I’ll only need another minute of your time,” Zayn hears the officer say as he starts to walk away. “I’m sure this is a very difficult time for you...” Then his voice gets swallowed up by the shouting of the firefighters, and the roar of the flames.

Niall’s sitting in the back of the ambulance. His elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands.

“Nialler.”

He jerks up in surprise. “Zayn,” he says. Then his face crumbles. “Everything’s gone, Zayn.”

Zayn hugs him, though their positions are awkward and Niall’s face ends up getting pressed against Zayn’s chest. Niall's shaking in his arms and all Zayn can think to do is rub big circles up and down his back, like what his mum used to do for him when he was little and woke up in tears from nightmares.  
He doesn’t know how long he stands there with Niall tucked into his arms.

There’s a loud screech of tyres and when he turns around, Liam is barrelling out of the passenger side of Harry’s SUV before it has even come to a full stop. He sees Louis and Maura first and runs towards them. Harry parks half in someone's driveway and half up on the pavement before running after Liam. He's eyes are scanning the crowd, locking with Zayn's, and then he's veering towards them.

"Is he alright? Why's he in the ambulance?" He's a little breathless, eyes darting between Zayn and Niall.

Zayn says what Maura told him and then it's Harry's turn to hold Niall. Then Zayn makes his way back to Maura, Louis and Liam.

He stops just behind Louis, Liam's too focused on Maura to notice him. Zayn squeezes Louis wrist before nodding over towards Harry and Niall.

"Do you still have the tickets?" Liam has his hands on Maura's shoulders, he's hunched over so he can look at her at eye level.

She nods shakily and reaches into her handbag. "I was going to return them," she says quietly against the roar of the blaze. "We can't just leave you, Liam. Not when--"

“You stayed with me when everyone else turned away. You stayed. And you followed me here. I should have never let you come.”

Maura cups a hand to Liam’s cheek. “You were just a boy.” Her eyes trace the lines of his face like she can barely reconcile the boy she remembers and who she sees standing before her. “You had to grow up so fast.”

“Let me do right by you now, Maura.” He rests his hand on top of hers. “Please.”

“Oh, Liam.” She hugs him fiercely, eyes closed. “My beautiful, brave boy. You deserve so much better than this.”

“Mum,” he says, voice cracking, like it’s a word that tears at him from the inside. “I’ll get you on the first flight out tomorrow.”

“OK,” she concedes, kissing his forehead. “OK.”

“What’s going on?” Niall and Harry are suddenly beside Louis. Niall's eyes are red-rimmed and under the harsh glare of the fire, he looks even paler.

Maura says, “We’re going home, love.” She hesitates then, eyes flitting to Liam and then back to her son. “For a while.”

Niall’s quiet for a moment. “Wolverhampton?”

Liam’s the one who says, “Mullingar.”

“What?” Niall's eyes snap back to Liam. “No!”

“Niall.” When Liam reaches out for him, Niall smacks his arm away. He steps forward and shoves at Liam’s chest but Liam’s bigger and stronger and it’s Niall who stumbles back. Harry has to steady him, but he pushes him away too.

“No! Fuck you, Liam!” He spits. His sudden burst of anger has lit a fire inside of him. “You can’t decide to send us away whenever you feel like it! Mum!” He whirls around to face her, voice pleading. She can only look back at him, tears in her eyes. Niall’s expression looks like the shattered remains of a plate that’s been thrown to the ground. "Mum," he says again. But her lips stay pressed together and she says nothing. He's stunned by her silence.

Liam grabs Niall's shoulders and it’s like an electric shock to Niall’s system. He’s thrashing and flailing and yelling and people are tearing their gaze away from the fire to gawk.

Liam looks torn between shaking him and hugging him. "Listen to me." Niall's trying to twist his way out of Liam's grip, howling and shaking his head. "Niall, listen to me!"

"No! You don't get to do this! Not to me!"

"Listen!" And Liam does shake Niall, hard enough to rattle his teeth and to steal the breath right out of him.

"What if you were in there, huh? What if you and Maura were in the house right now?"

Niall stills, chest heaving. He's quiet now.

"Do you know what that would have done to me?" Liam shakes him again, gentler this time. "Do you?"

Tears are streaming down Niall's face. He wipes it half-heartedly with the back of his hand.

"It would have destroyed me." Liam answers for him. "It would have killed me," he says, softer.

They stare at each other in silence. And then Niall sinks against Liam's chest, like his legs have given way, and tucks his face against Liam's neck, heaving sobs that shake his entire body. Liam holds him, strong arms wrapped around his back.

Niall’s mumbling something about Ireland but Zayn can’t make it out. Liam’s nodding along, his cheek pressed against the side of Niall’s head.  
Then Niall’s jerking his head back so he can looks Liam in the face, his hands fisting into Liam’s shirt. "You promise me!"

"I swear, Niall." He kisses the side of his head and holds him tightly. "I've always wanted to go to Ireland. I want to see the places you're always talking about. I want to see where you grew up when you were just a dumb kid with crooked teeth."

The sun is setting now, and the fire is finally dying down.

Niall huffs out a laugh. But then immediately grows somber again. "Promise me, Liam."

"I swear, Niall." Liam says, his eyes locked on Niall's. "I will come back for you."

Zayn sees the grief and desperation clawing at Niall's face and hopes, yearns, for Liam to be telling the truth.

 

  
"Do you think it was Max?" Harry asks, once they've retreated to the other side of the road, giving the others their privacy.  Zayn knows this question is directed at Louis and looks expectantly at the oldest, and probably wisest, of them all.

Louis forehead is creased, his eyebrows drawn like he's deep in thought.

“I know Max is a borderline sociopath,” Harry continues when Louis doesn't answer him. “But this?”

Zayn’s gaze turns back towards the fire before hooking onto Liam’s silhouette. His arms are wrapped protectively around Niall and Maura. His back is straight and proud, his chin tilted up and defiant. Zayn’s artist eyes drinks it in. His fingers itch, desperate to draw it.  
  
“Well,” Louis finally says, “Max has never liked being ignored."


	13. someone had to draw the line (ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY, GUYS. I'VE ADDED 'GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE' FOR THIS CHAPTER. THERE WILL BE BLOOD. IF THAT IS NOT YOUR THING, THEN I WOULD ADVISE YOU TO SKIP THIS CHAPTER. BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY.
> 
> And thanks for the continual support. I really, really appreciate it.

Zayn should have been more careful. But what happened with Niall left him rattled, he wasn’t paying attention.

Liam spent the night with Maura and Niall, and was going with them to the airport in the afternoon.

Liam had kissed him slow and deep outside his building, one hand in his hair and the other resting against the small of his back. It felt like Liam was trying to tell him something. And even though Zayn was unsure of what, he still nodded when Liam pulled back to look at him.

He smiled, and ran a thumb across Zayn's bottom lip. “See you tomorrow.”

It really just seemed like any other day.

 

The corner shop is his last stop. When he walks in, it's strangely deserted. The same old lady is sitting by the register. She looks at him, a beat longer than she normally would, her lips twitch like she wants to say something, but then she nods towards the back room, like she always does.

Zayn should have been paying more attention.

“Joe,” he says, heading to the back room and opening the door. But the guy sitting behind the desk in the tiny room isn’t Joe.

Zayn is shoved forward and the door behind him is pulled shut. He hears the click of the lock. The sound of it echoes through his ears. He stumbles but manages to regain his balance. His heart is racing inside his chest.

“Zayn Malik, right on time.”

Zayn didn’t get a great look at him in the club, his eyes were mostly glued on Liam, but he recognises the voice. That sharp northern twang.

Max’s legs are propped up on the desk, and crossed at the ankles, his arms are folded behind his head. He looks relaxed and a little bored, like’s he’s been waiting for a while.

Zayn glances over his shoulder and sees Siva, much more recognisable, standing in front of the door with his arms crossed, a gun in one hand.

Zayn doesn’t trust himself to speak. He turns back to the front of the room when he hears the slow scrap of the chair being pushed back. He watches as Max walks around the table and leans against it. He points to another chair in front of him. “Take a seat.”

Zayn doesn’t move.

Siva’s hand clamps down on his shoulders, forcing him forward and down into the chair. His arms are yanked behind him. He can feel the thick plastic looped around his wrists and pulled tight, biting into his skin. Then he feels the same thing being done to each ankle, strapped up against the legs of the chair.

Max gestures for Zayn to be moved closer. Siva drags him closer until their knees are touching.

“Look at you.” Max leans forward until their faces are inches apart. Zayn resists the urge to shrink back. He meets Max’s gaze. But he can’t help the flinch when Max cups a hand to his cheek. “What a pretty boy.”

Zayn grits his teeth but doesn’t say anything.

Max rubs his thumb along Zayn’s bottom lip, before pushing the tip of it into his mouth.

Zayn bites down, hard.

Max yanks out his thumb and backhands Zayn in one swift movement.

Zayn’s cheek stings and he tastes blood in his mouth, doesn’t know if it’s from Max or himself.

Suddenly, there’s the cool press of a blade at his throat, and he feels Siva looming behind him.

Max barks out a laugh and when Zayn’s eyes dart back towards the man, he looks more amused than angry. “Maybe more than just a pretty face.” He grabs Zayn’s chin and yanks him forward.

Zayn’s heart is pounding inside his chest, demanding to be let out. He wills it to slow down, does not want to give Max the satisfaction of seeing his fear. But judging from the other man’s smirk, Zayn is failing at it.

Max could probably hear it, it's so fucking loud.

"I hope you're not a stupid boy." And then he forces two fingers into Zayn’s mouth. He almost bites down again but he feels the slight press of the knife and then a thin, warm trickle of blood dripping down his neck.

Zayn closes his eyes and doesn’t resist it. He doesn’t know what Max wants from him. But if Max has no plans to kill him yet, Zayn does not want to give him any reason to change his mind.

“There we go.” Max’s breath is hot and minty, and Zayn knows he’ll associate that scent with Max and his fingers for as long as he lives. “That’s a good boy.” He murmurs, like he’s talking to a pet.

Zayn tastes salt and something tangy and metallic.

“There are a few people who could be in your position right now.” He slides his fingers in and out of Zayn’s slack lips.

“But there’s a certain...” He pauses, then bares his teeth in a way that he might think is a smile, “..sentimentality that goes with the one you fuck.” Max shoves deeper and curls his fingers against the back of his throat and Zayn gags.

He chuckles before pulling his fingers out, wiping the excess saliva on Zayn’s denim clad thigh. Zayn turns his head and spits, trying to get rid of the taste.

The knife is removed and Zayn eyes it as Siva hands it to Max. It glints under the florescent light, a wink.

“I don’t understand it myself.” Max says, running the knife up and down Zayn’s inner thigh. “A fuck’s a fuck, right?” Max looks at Zayn, a thin half-smile curving his lips as Zayn just stares back. “But there must be something special about you.” Max’s free hand clamps down tightly around Zayn’s knee. “I wonder what it is.” His leans forward, his hand moves up Zayn’s thigh and squeezes. “I wonder what he sees in you.”

He’s so close, Zayn can see himself reflected in Max’s eyes. His pupils are blown, wide and black.

Then Max crushes their lips together.

Zayn fights him, tears with his teeth. And when he tastes blood again, this time he knows it’s Max’s.

He’s shoved back so hard the chair almost flips over.

He braces himself, expects Max to hit him again. But the blow doesn’t come and when Zayn turns back, Max is looking at him, almost thoughtful, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Almost absentmindedly, he licks the blood from his hand.

"Are you scared, Zayn?"

Zayn tilts his head up, lips curled. "I'm not scared of you."

Max's chuckle is low and throaty. "Liar." He smirks. "It's not just me who you should be afraid of, Zayn." He strokes his knuckles down the side of Zayn's face. "What Walsh saw in me, he saw in Liam."

Walsh. Zayn blinks. He knows that name.

"I was fucking pissed when I was dropped for Liam. Couldn't fucking believe it when he beat me. But when I watched him fight, when I was just another face in thr crowd..." He pauses, staring past Zayn. "I recognised something in him." His eyes flick back down to Zayn. "Because it's in me too."

Zayn snarls. “Liam is nothing like you.” His heart is beating so fast he’s afraid it might explode. “You’re a _monster_.”

Max‘s eyes brighten and he smiles, amused and condescending. “But you don’t even know me, my dear.” He yanks Zayn’s head back, exposing his throat, fingers tightening in his hair. “You don’t even know _him_." Max scrapes his teeth along the bared skin of his throat. "You’ve never seen him spit his own blood in people’s faces while his knee crushed down on their throat. You’ve never seen him beat a man to death with his bare hands, kept pummeling until his knuckles were ripped open and raw and the body beneath him was finally quiet and so, so still.” Max sneers down at him. “You don’t know him, Zayn. Not like I do." There’s something in Max’s eyes, a manic glint, that sends a shiver down Zayn’s spine. "Nobody does.”

"What do you want?" Zayn hates himself when he hears the tremor in his voice.

"What do _I_ want?" A smile creeps across his face, and Zayn’s stomach sinks. "This isn't about me, Zayn. This is for Liam. This is my gift for him."

The hand in his hair falls away. “Hold still,” Max says. “We don’t want this to come out crooked.”

Zayn breathes in sharply when he feels the blade press against his right cheek. He jerks his head away but Max grabs his throat, fingers digging into the side of his neck. He struggles for breath.

“Hold. Still.”

Zayn grits his teeth when the knife slices into his flesh. It feels like his cheek is on fire. Tears spring to his eyes, and he squeezes them shut. He grunts, his breath wet and ragged. Dimly he can feel the steady flow of blood running down his face, against the burn of his face.

“Fuck,” Zayn wheezes, Max’s palm crushes against his windpipe. He can’t breathe.

Max takes his time, carving Zayn’s face like an artist. He’s muttering to himself but Zayn can’t hear it over the roar of his ears.

Finally, finally, Max lets go and moves back.

Zayn’s gulping down air so quickly he starts to cough, his body almost doubling over. His arms are pulled painfully over the back of the chair. He blinks the wetness out of his eyes and looks up at the other man.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Max says.

“Fuck you!” Zayn spits. His face and lungs are burning. His eyes zero in on Max’s hand and the knife, stained with blood. His blood.

Max laughs, head thrown back, mouth open. It’s a terrible sound. He leans forward, his lips brushing against the shell of Zayn’s ear. “Not just a pretty face.”

He presses a kiss, soft and chaste against his lips. "Liam's mine." It's barely a whisper, a gasp of breath. But it vibrates down Zayn's body, shakes him to his core.

Zayn can only stare, eyes wide.

Then Max is gone. The light is switched off and the door shuts with a quiet and final click.

And Zayn is alone.

He closes his eyes for what feels like a minute, an eternity.

 

There’s a shout and then the door is kicked open. Zayn jerks awake and is startled by the sudden light.

For an awful moment he thinks Max is back.

“Shit! Shit, shit shit!” A pause. “Louis! He’s here!”

Zayn twists towards the door, squinting into the light. He knows that voice.

Relief floods through him.

Harry runs forward and kneels before him. “Fuck! Zayn.” His hand comes up and hovers, hesitates, near the side of his face but Zayn flinches, turns away. He must look like a mess.

He hears a snip, and his hands are free. When he slumps forward, Harry catches him.

“We gotta take him to Ed.” He hears Harry say.

“No.” Louis replies, “we’ll bring Ed to my place.” A cool, dry hand is pressed against the back of his neck for a moment.

He’s safe now. Zayn closes his eyes again. He’s safe.

He feels himself being lifted and carried out.

Harry tries to be as gentle as he can while getting into the car but still jostles Zayn enough for him to wince.

Finally, Harry has them settled and Zayn is cradled against his chest.

“Oh, Zayn.” He feels the gentle tug as Harry runs his fingers through his hair. He sounds so sad. “You should have left when Liam gave you the chance.”


	14. light reflects from your shadow

When Zayn opens his eyes, for a quiet moment, he’s disoriented and can’t remember a thing.  
  
He blinks and looks around, it takes a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust to the relative darkness of the room, and even longer to figure out where he is. He’s lying on a bed, spacious and comfortable. He’s curled on his left side like a fetus, the quilt is clutched tightly in his hands like he was afraid to let go. The curtains on the window are not quite drawn shut and a slither of moonlight streams through.  
  
His head feels fuzzy. His throat aches when he swallows, the right side of his face is numb. He reaches a shaky hand to his cheek and feels gauze taped to his cheek. Then he remembers, he remembers everything.  
  
He jerks his hand away.  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut, and curls more into himself.  
  
He’s in Louis’ bed, in Louis’ flat.  
  
And Ed was there with steady hands and a soothing voice. But it had done little to quell the fear and the panic. And the pain, god, the fucking pain, when Ed took a needle and thread to his face.  
  
Harry had to hold him down and Louis had shouted, “Jesus, Ed! Can’t you give him something for the pain?”  
  
“After,” Ed had said. His fingers resting on Zayn’s forehead and chin.  
  
And after he did.  
  
He fell asleep to three concerned faces staring down at him, but none of them was the one he wanted.  
  
He prods his cheek with a finger. How strange it feels, not being able to feel a thing. It reminds him of the time he had his wisdom teeth removed and he was forced to drink soups through a straw for almost a week. His mum had fussed over him like he was gravely ill. It had done nothing to help his mood and he snapped at her constantly. He wonders what she’s going now.  
  
Zayn can’t stop the wetness from his eyes, can only blink steadily and allow it to slide down his face. It’s only when it touches the corner of his mouth and his tongue darts out of its own accord  to lick his chapped lips does he realise how thirsty he is.  
  
He glances at the bedside table and sees a bottle of water. He shifts forward and reaches out with a shaky hand. He jerks in surprise when someone says his name, knocking the bottle to the ground.  
  
He looks towards the bottom of the bed and sees Liam sitting in an armchair, his elbow on his knees like he had his head buried in his hands only a second ago.  
  
“Liam.” His voice is low and gravelly but it’s so quiet in this room, Zayn might as well have been shouting.  
  
Liam stands, strides towards him in a handful of steps and picks up the bottle. With a flick of his wrist he twists the lid off. He reaches for a straw that Zayn hadn’t noticed and slides it into the bottle.  
  
“Ed says this will make it easier.” He holds the bottle out to him, still standing a careful distance away.  
  
Zayn props himself up on his elbow, winces when his neck and shoulders protest, and takes the bottle. He wants Liam closer, doesn’t understand why he’s not.  
  
Liam looks like he wants to help him but his hand draws back as soon as Zayn gets a grip of the bottle and his arms fall to his side as he straightens.  
  
Zayn notices that Liam hasn’t looked at him once. His eyes have darted around the room, his gaze had slid over him but Liam hasn’t looked.  
  
Something twists inside Zayn as he remembers the hardness in Max’s eyes and the mocking curl of his lips.  
  
 _What a pretty boy.  
  
_ The water is cool against his tongue. Zayn has to force himself not to retch.  
  
 _I wonder what it is.  
_  
Liam doesn’t want to touch Zayn, can barely even look at him.  
  
He touches the gauze again, wonders if Liam saw it, wonders if Liam was repulsed.  
  
 _I wonder what he sees in you._  
  
This must be what Max wanted, Zayn thinks. The thought claws at him from the inside.  
  
He keeps drinking, faintly feels water dribbling at of the corner of his mouth and down his chin. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, notices the bandages around his wrists and suddenly, inexplicably, he’s furious with himself.  
  
He doesn’t realise he’s shaking until Liam is plucking the bottle from his hand, fingers carefully not touching, and placing it back on the bedside table.  
  
“Thank you,” is all Zayn can trust himself to say as he curls back under the covers and closes his eyes.  
  
You can go now, he thinks. But he can’t bring himself to say it. It’s the last thing he wants Liam to do. He can’t bear  to have Liam so close and have him unwilling to touch him, to even look at him. But more than that he can’t bear to see Liam leave.  
  
He wants to laugh at himself, loud and nasty. Look at how ridiculous he is, how lovesick, how pathetic. How ruined.  
  
He pretends to fall asleep.  
  
He expects to hear the door open but instead he feels a dip in the bed.  
  
Liam doesn’t leave.  
  
He wonders what time it is.  


Zayn thinks he might have actually fallen asleep, maybe just for a minute because he wakes up to fingertips sweeping up and down the back of his hand, gentle and tentative.  
  
His heart clenches.  
  
He turns his hand over and grasps those fingers. They still in his grip but they don’t pull away.  
  
“Don’t go.” And Zayn doesn’t realise he’s said it outloud until he hears Liam reply.  
  
“I wasn’t-- I would never--” He falls silent, runs a thumb across Zayn’s knuckles instead.  
  
They sit in silence for several heartbeats, holding hands.  
  
“How bad is it?” A part of him doesn’t want to know but a bigger, more painful part wants to hear Liam say it, wants to hear Liam tell him how wrecked he is.  
  
“I haven’t seen it.”  
  
Zayn opens his eyes.  
  
“You haven’t seen it,” he repeats.  
  
Liam sighs, scrubs his free hand over his face. “Only if you want me to.”  
  
Zayn doesn't know if he's strong enough to see it, but the tightness in his chest loosens ever so slightly. “Liam,” he says. “Come here.” And it sounds like he’s pleading, and maybe he is. He doesn’t want Liam’s pity but he’ll take it if that’s all Liam’s willing to offer.  
  
Liam seems to hesitate but when Zayn reaches out with his other hand, Liam crawls across the bed, mindful of his knees and hands, and doesn’t stop until Zayn is bracketed between them.  
  
They stare at each other. This close, and with the help of the moonlight, Zayn can see Liam’s eyes are tired and bloodshot, roaming across Zayn’s face like a starving man. And maybe there's something else.  
  
When Zayn touches his face, Liam’s eyes flutter shut.  
  
“I didn’t know if you would want me here,” Liam says, while Zayn runs his fingers through Liam’s hair. It’s getting so long now. He hopes Liam will grow it out again. He runs his hands down Liam’s chest, over the tight ropes of muscles. They linger over his heart, feel the nervous beat of it. “Didn’t know if you would want to see me when you woke up.”  
  
Zayn realises then, with startling clarity, that Liam was afraid to touch, to look, because he didn’t think he was allowed, didn’t think he had the right to anymore.  
  
“Liam,” he twists his hand into the fabric of Liam’s shirt and pulls him closer. His heart swells, and now he can’t breathe for a different reason.  
  
Their lips meet like magnets, a slow slide before finally slotting together.  
  
He feels Liam’s arms shake from the exertion of holding himself up, a testament to just how exhausted he must be.  
  
“Lay down,” he murmurs against Liam’s mouth.  
  
Liam rolls onto his back. Zayn curls towards him, his uninjured cheek resting against Liam’s chest.  
  
Liam’s hand is on his back, solid and warm, running up and down the curve of his spine.  
  
“Baby,” Zayn feels the rumble of the words more than he hears them. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there. I should of--”  
  
“Don’t,” he says. He’s not going to let Liam carry this. Zayn will not be another guilty weight, bringing Liam down. He pushes a hand beneath Liam’s shirt and spreads his fingers out against the flat stretch of his stomach. “You’re here now.” It might be little comfort for Liam, but it’s enough for him. He closes his eyes, feels the drag of sleep claiming he once again.  
  
He lets himself get pulled under, lulled by the steady beat of Liam’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was actually a really difficult chapter to write, probably the most difficult so far. there were a lot of ways i could have gone with this and i just hope this felt right to you. and thanks again for all the support. you guys are the best.


	15. you were a kindness

Zayn wakes up to someone shaking his shoulder. And instinct has him flailing until the palm of his hand smacks someone in the face.

“Ow,” the someone says, “should have seen that coming.”

Zayn peeks up from his blanket sanctuary and sees Louis rubbing his jaw. “Sorry.”

Louis shrugs, dropping his hand. “Hungry?”

Zayn’s starving.  He nods.

“Good.” Louis shakes a small white bottle he’d been holding in his other hand. Zayn can hear the pills rattling inside them. “Can’t have these on an empty stomach. Doctor’s orders.” He pauses. “I mean could-have-been-a-doctor-if-he-didn’t-drop-out’s orders.” He grins.

Zayn looks at the other side of the bed and though he’s not surprised, he’s still disappointed to see it empty. He should have known when he didn’t feel his comforting weight draped across his back.

When he glances back at Louis, there’s a soft look in his eyes.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty.” He says,” I’ll make us the Tomlinson Special.”

The Tomlinson Special turns out to be really watery eggs.

“I’m no Harry Styles,” he admits when he pushes the plate towards Zayn. “But who is?”

Zayn wonders if Louis made the eggs deliberately soggy so it would be easier for Zayn to swallow or if he’s just a truly terrible cook. He looks around at Louis unusually pristine kitchen, and finds it difficult to say, one way or another.

 

In Louis’ ensuite, Zayn slowly brushes his teeth and carefully washes his face. And after a long moment of staring at his reflection, he peels back the bandages on his face.

Max wants Liam to see this. Max wants it to hurt Liam.

Zayn could keep this covered and Liam would never ask.

It’s still swollen and red but the shape of it is obvious. The black stitches are neat and precise, highlighting the sharp lines.

His fingers hover over his cheek but he can’t bring himself to touch it.

He didn’t know what to expect, maybe something mindless and ugly. But there’s a purpose to this that Zayn doesn’t understand. He wonders what it’ll mean to Liam.

He stares and stares and stares.

A rapping on the door startles Zayn out of whatever self-hypnosis he put himself under.

“Hey, I’m going to order in,” Louis says. “What do you feel like?”

“Um.” Zayn fumbles with fresh bandages, does his best to tape it on despite how much his hands are shaking. “Whatever. I don’t mind.”

 

They’re eating on the couch, after Louis insisted he knew a great place that makes the best homemade soups even though Louis got himself a pasta bake, watching a terrible reality show where people cry and whine more than they sing.

The nasty judge is being nasty and the audience is booing him when Zayn asks, “How did you find me?”

Louis is silent for so long Zayn almost convinces himself that he only asked the question in his head.

“Max called me.” The sentence is clipped short like Louis had more to say but decided against it at the last second.

“And you believed him? I mean, it could have been a setup.”

“Yes.” Louis agreed, his finger tapping on the rim of the bowl. “But no-one could get a hold of you, so we couldn’t afford not to.”

“Oh.” Almost absentmindedly, Zayn touches his cheek. “Thank you.”

He feels Louis tracking the gesture but he stays silent.

Louis hasn’t bombard him with questions. He can read a person and knows the best way to approach them so he can get what he needs. And he knows the power of silence, knows that sometimes they say more than any words, and can be as damning as any confession.

He waits.

Zayn puts the spoon down after a couple of mouthfuls, suddenly he’s not hungry anymore. “He’s obsessed with him, isn’t he? He’s obsessed with Liam.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Louis puts his empty bowl on the coffee table. “Sometimes I can’t tell if he wants to fuck Liam or rip of his head and swallow down his blood while it’s still warm.” He shrugs. “Fine line, I suppose.”

_Liam’s mine._

Zayn shivers. Max had almost been gentle with him when he said that, despite the feral eyes and the knife dripping with his blood. Zayn’s stomach rolls. He picks up a glass of water, and hopes it quells his urge to vomit.

He wants to ask Louis what he thinks the cuts mean. He knows he must have seen it, Ed and Harry too. He wonders if any of them will tell Liam. He wraps his hands around the bowl, curls around it like it could warm him up all over. He doubts it. Maybe they don’t think much of it. They’ve probably seen worse, done worse.

The thought snags at him like a nail to loose thread.

“How do you do this, Louis, live like this?”

And Zayn isn’t entirely sure what he’s asking exactly. The unpredictable violence, perhaps. That everyday, Louis could wake up, step out of his building and get a bullet to the head like a good morning from a neighbour. Things like that could happen to anyone, technically speaking, but Zayn knows the odds shoot up substantially when you also have a gun tucked in the back of your pants.

“You could say it’s in our blood.” Louis is watching the TV when he says this. A pimply kid with terrible hair is jumping up and down while his friends and family crowd around him with tears in their eyes. “Me and Harry were born into this. Our dads used to run with Simon before he got promoted to head honcho.”

Zayn hesitates when he asks, “Where are they now?”

“My dad’s dead. Harry’s is in prison. He kept an eye out for Liam when he was in there.” He puts the mug down and stares straight ahead. “Good man. Just like our Harold.”

Zayn’s eyes flick down to his own drink in his hands. He feels another layer of sadness for his friends. What kind of life it must have been to grow up like this. To lose your father, one way or another, and then to follow in their footsteps like it was the only path laid out in front of them. Louis is so clever, so fucking smart. He could be anything he wanted, Zayn is sure of this. He wants to tell Louis this, wants to say it’s not too late. But he doesn’t. Louis is smart. Smart enough to make his own choices. Louis decided to stay, against all rational thought and reason, Louis chose to stay.

And, well, Zayn knows all about that.

“Do you get scared?” Zayn asks even though he was sure he was going to ask something else. But for the life of him now, he can’t recall it.

Louis raises an eyebrow, almost like he was surprised by the question. “Sometimes.”

Zayn wasn’t expecting an actual answer, let alone one that dips in the affirmative. He had thought he would get one of Louis’ patented spiels that would question the idea of fear and how to laugh in the face of it.

When he turns to Louis, he’s already looking at him with unreadable eyes. “Are you...” Zayn hesitates, unsure if he wants to hear the answer now that it’s apparent that Louis’ not against being honest. “Are you scared now?”

The silent stare down that follows (Zayn is mere seconds away from breaking it) is interrupted by Louis’ phone demanding his attention. It’s one of the unspoken rules that Zayn has picked up during his time here: Louis always answers his phone.

All Louis says is “Yeah?” Followed shortly by, “Okay.” And then he hangs up.

He has the best poker face Zayn’s ever come across. So he doesn’t know what to expect when Louis puts the phone down, stands and picks up his jacket.

“We’re going to The X-Factor,” he says. Zayn watches him, waiting for more. “Liam wants to show you something.” Oh.

 

At the door, Louis stops and pins Zayn to the spot with his eyes. “Yeah,” he finally says, “I am.”

 

 


	16. my heart is beating in a different way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so sorry for the massive delay. Thank you so much if you're still reading this and sticking with it! I can promise you the next updates will not take four weeks. 
> 
> Also, remember how that other chapter had 'Graphic Depiction of Violence' in the header? Yeah, this one too. Though not as graphic, most of it is implied.

The X-Factor looks different in the dreary London day, like a Parisian showgirl without her makeup - older, tired, maybe even a little bit sad. As Zayn follows Louis down the backway, his eyes scan in the dirty cement and the scattered debris and he can’t help but imagine Liam and Max brawling out here, of Niall on the ground clutching his leg. He can almost hear the crunch of bone and taste the tinge of blood. It’s a terrible thought, but he can’t shake the macabre-like feeling snaking its way up his spine. It’s a feeling he hasn’t been able to shake for a long time, but he hasn’t gotten used to it. He doesn’t think he ever will.  
  
Once they’re inside, Zayn realises it’s the quiet that actually spooks him. No music pounding the walls like a prisoner desperate to escape, no deluge of voices clamouring to be heard, nothing but their footsteps echoing back.  
  
Zayn remembers this spot. The door on the left is where he stood when Harry had opened the door. Time can be relative, he knows, because it both feels like it was only yesterday but also 100 years ago.  
  
Louis reaches for the door on the right, and when he opens it and walks through, Zayn has no choice but to follow.  
  
Harry’s already in there, leaning up against the wall. The sleeves of his blazer are pushed up to his elbows and his arms are crossed against his chest, he looks tired and dishevelled but when he sees them enter the room his face brightens. Zayn offers his own small smile. He remembers that it was Harry who found him. He can only imagine how he must have looked, trapped and bleeding. He remembers the desperate scrape of Harry’s voice, the gentle way Harry had touched him, the hammering of his heart when Harry held him against his chest.  
  
Sometimes it’s not difficult to forget that Harry’s the youngest. He’s tall and long-limbed, easy charm and even easier smiles that draw people to him like giddy moths to a cheeky flame. But there’s a gentleness to him that people almost always miss. Harry doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, it hangs like a medallion around his neck. And Zayn knows the reason it hasn’t been yanked off and stomped on is because of Louis.  
  
Zayn realises Louis is responsible for a lot of things. Him standing here right now. And probably why Liam hasn’t been thrown back into prison.  
  
The room’s pretty small, not bigger than a janitor’s closet. The only thing out of places is the window that  takes up most of the wall that connects this room to the one next door.  It reminds Zayn of the interrogation rooms in those cop procedurals Perrie secretly likes.  
  
In the other room, Zayn sees Liam. He knows it’s Liam even though his back is to the window. Zayn recognises those broad shoulders stretching out the thin cotton of his shirt, the ramrod posture that comes from years of training as a dancer or an athlete. Yes, Zayn has every inch of Liam memorised - the line of his neck, the tapered length of his fingers. He could pick him out in a crowd of hundreds.  
  
Harry leans over Zayn to knock on the glass.  
  
When Liam turns around his eyes are dark and unreadable. His face blank in the way it had been when he held a hammer and broke a guy’s hand without batting an eyelash.  
  
Liam leans over to pick up a blowtorch and Zayn notices that someone else is occupying the chair this time. Zayn feels the sharp stab of fear and dread as Siva stares back at him.  
  
He’s shirtless, his feet are bare. All he’s wearing is a pair of thin cotton pyjama pants like he had literally been dragged out of bed. His skin is sweat-slicked and his chest is heaving like he had been yelling only moments before. His face is something else entirely. His nose looks broken, an eye is swollen shut, a trickle of blood is drying down the side of his face from a nasty gash across his forehead. It reminds Zayn of Andy when he had turned up at his flat at three in the morning. Zayn doesn’t think that’s a coincidence.  
  
The blowtorch flares to life and Siva flinches at the sound. Liam uses it to light a cigarette before he crouches down to face Siva.  
  
“The thing about fire,” Liam says, inspecting the bursts of flame as he pauses to puff out smoke from the side of his mouth, “is that it’s kind of beautiful, isn’t it?” He moves the blowtorch towards Siva’s face. Siva pulls away, trying to move as far back as he can. “It gives you light and warmth.” Liam’s eyes are locked on Siva’s as he runs the fingers of his free hand down the side of Siva’s face, neck, and shoulder. “But in a heartbeat, it's burning you alive.” Liam’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into bruised flesh. Siva hisses and turns his face away. Liam yanks him back with rough fingers. "Look at me, Siva."  
  
Obediently or defiantly, Siva's good eye trains on Liam. "What do you want me to say, Liam?" His voice is soft but surprisingly steady.  
  
Pulling the blowtorch away, Liam says, "I don't want you to say anything. Your actions have done enough talking."  
  
Zayn shouldn’t feel sorry for him. The last time he say the guy, he was the one strapped to a chair with a knife to his throat. But Zayn also recognises that Liam is where Max was, taunting and cruel. He wants to hold onto the anger but the cold wash of fear keeps dousing any flicker of it. He doesn’t want Liam to be like Max.  
  
He feels the cool burst of relief when Liam stands and puts the blowtorch back on the table.  
  
And Zayn realises then - known all along, really - that he doesn't have it in him, the thirst for revenge. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, wasn't that the saying?  
  
Liam returns to Siva's side, trailing his fingers across Siva's arm before coming to a top over Siva's hand. "Now it's my turn." In the blink of an eye and a twist of his wrist, Liam snaps the bone of Siva's finger.  
  
Zayn's heart is in his throat as he watches Siva curse and spit.  
  
This is not what he wants.  
  
Liam waits for Siva to settle. He plucks the cigarette from the corner of his mouth and, without preamble, presses it into the back of Siva's hand. Siva jerks and lets out a loud, ragged breath. Liam holds the cigarette in place and watches the pain rippling across Siva's flushed face with the slightest furrow of his brow, like he can't quite understand the fuss.  
  
Zayn surges forward before he realises it, his fists banging against the glass. "Liam, stop!"  
  
Harry's behind him in an instant, dragging him back.  
  
Liam glances over, his gaze sliding over Zayn before locking on Harry. He stands, removing the cigarette and flicking it to the ground. He picks up the blowtorch and a scalpel as he makes his way towards the window.  
  
"Get him out of here," Liam says, voice flat. "He doesn't need to see this," he continues, like Zayn isn't standing right there.  
  
Harry doesn't respond but Zayn feels himself pulled away. "Liam," he urges. "Don't do this. Please." But Liam doesn't look at him, is already turning away.  
  
“Take him out,” Liam says again, as if Zayn had never spoken.  
  
The spike of adrenaline drains from Zayn just as suddenly as it had appeared. He doesn't fight Harry when he guides him to the door. He feels heavy and slow and is actually glad Harry's got a steady hand on him.  
  
Louis looks at him when they pass, eyes sharp as ever. They don't exchange words but Louis nods once, like they did. Zayn can only blink back at him before the door shuts between them.  
  
Harry’s hand is firm against the small of his back, guiding him towards the exit like he was an unruly patron.  
  
“What's going to happen to him?” Zayn asks into the silence. “Harry, what’s Liam going to do?”

Harry looks at him, long and hard, before his expression softens into something akin to sadness. “Don’t ask me questions you don’t want answers to, Zayn.”

The protests dies on his lips when he realises Harry is right. He’s a coward. He can’t bear to look, and he can’t bear to know.  
  
“I know you find this difficult to understand, Zayn. But we can’t just walk away from this.”

Harry’s right, Zayn doesn’t understand.  
  
Zayn stops by the exit and says,  “I want to be alone.”  
  
Harry frowns. “That’s not a good idea.”  
  
Zayn dredges up a wry smile. “You can stay behind the door. I just need some space to think. If anyone tries to kidnap me, I’ll scream bloody murder.”  
  
The corner of Harry’s lip twitches up. “Alright.”   
  
He lets Zayn walk out alone.  
  
  
  
Zayn can’t have been standing outside for more than 20 minutes, his third cigarette tucked between his fingers, crouching against the brick wall of the building, when the sound of the door slamming shut startles him out of his thoughts.  
  
“Harry?”  
  
The sun had moved behind the building, casting most of the laneway in shadow. Zayn can’t see who it is, but he’s pretty sure it’s not Harry.  
  
No, not Harry.  
  
“Do you still love me now?”  
  
Liam emerges from the shadows, a hoodie pulled over his head and his hands in his pockets. He shrugs and doesn’t seem put off by Zayn’s stunned silence.

“It’s why you stayed, isn’t it? Because you think you love me.”  
  
Zayn feels hysterical laughter bubbling up inside his throat, but he silences it with a shaky breath.  
  
Do you still love me _now_?  
  
Liam’s face is tilted towards him, bathed in light. His eyes are still cold and distant but there’s something else, a spark.  
  
The final piece of is slots into place and Zayn realises what Liam means. What he wanted to show Zayn wasn’t Siva. It was what he did to Siva. Liam was showing him the part of him that had still remained elusive to Zayn. The part that Max recognised as a kindred spirit.  
  
This wasn’t revenge, not entirely.  
  
This was a declaration.  
  
Liam had laid himself bare, and had let Zayn witness it with his own eyes. There is darkness in him and he had wanted Zayn to see it, to see everything.  
  
And now it’s Zayn’s turn.  
  
Zayn unfurls himself, straightening his back, he stretches out into his full height. With his eyes locked on Liam, he reaches for the bandage on his face and slowly peels it away --  
  
For a moment there is nothing, only stillness and the pounding of Zayn’s heart rattling his insides like a loose coin in a tin can.  
  
\-- then Liam is on him, catching both his wrists and pinning them above his head. They’re still a little sore and Zayn winces at the vice-like grip but he can hardly focus on that when Liam’s right in his face.  
  
“He did this?” He’s pressed so close, from thighs to chest, Zayn can feel the hot puffs of his breath against his skin.  “He did this.” Liam answers himself, his voice soft and almost reverent.  
  
One cut starts from his cheekbone and runs down to the hinge of his jaw. The second cut runs perpendicular to the point and stops an inch from his lips. Together, it forms a right angle.  
  
Or a capital L.  
  
 _This is my gift for Liam._  
  
Liam’s hold on Zayn tightens and Zayn arches off the wall, rolling his hips against Liam, who grunts at the contact. “Liam,” Zayn says between gritted teeth. _You’re hurting me remains_ unsaid. But Liam immediately lets go, his hands falling to curl around Zayn’s hips, while Zayn’s remain over his head a second longer before they drift down and settle on Liam’s shoulders.  
  
Zayn stills when Liam’s lips ghost against his cheek. He shivers when he feels the light brush of Liam’s tongue trace against the stitches before it ends with the gentlest of kisses. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to suppress the thought that Liam might actually like it.  
  
"Zayn," Liam growls against his neck. And Zayn can feel the urgency, the desperation, the desire.

“I do,” Zayn whispers. He clutches Liam's face, nails digging into his scalp. And he stares into the eyes, where the ice and distance have melted away to reveal everything. “Fuck, I still do.” He brings him in for a bruising kiss that's more teeth and tongue.

He feels Liam smile against his lips. “Me too,” he breathes. “Me too,” he says like a promise, an oath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, so sorry. Thank you again for reading, kudosing, and commenting!


	17. what i've done, you've done too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I know this is pretty much a gangster!AU, and this type of stuff usually comes with the territory, but I've added 'Major Character Death' as a warning anyway. Just in case.

_Welcome back to BBC News. As we reported earlier, a man in his 20s was found severely beaten near the Charing Cross Hospital in London. Police have confirmed the man to be Siva Kaneswaran, a known affiliate to the London-based gang known as W. He is currently out on bail over assault charges from earlier this year and is due to front court later this month. He is currently not co-operating with police._  
  
Zayn blinks at the TV, Siva's mugshot glares back at him. He slides open his phone and opens the text Louis had sent him a couple minutes earlier.  
  
Turn on the news.  
  
How does he reply to that? Thank you?  
  
He glances over to Liam, who's still sprawled out, face down, on his bed. He had landed with a soft thump as soon as they were through the door, not even bothering to take his shoes off, unconscious to the world before the door even shut behind them.  
  
He puts his phone back down and decides he’ll think of something later. He shuffles back towards the bed, pausing to tug off Liam’s sneakers. Liam grunts and rolls onto his back. Zayn shimmies out of his jeans and curls up against Liam’s side, resting his head on Liam’s chest. He  lets the beat of his heart lull him to sleep.  
  
  
  
Zayn is disoriented when he wakes up. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s back in his own bed, in his own flat. He’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he notices the faint but steady stream of grunting he pushes up on his elbows and peers over the side of the bed. He is greeted with the glorious sight of a shirtless Liam doing push ups.  
  
Rolling closer towards the edge, to get a better view, his eyes greedily drink in the sight of Liam's back and the ropes of muscles flexing under the exertion. Liam’s arms pumping him up and down, up and down, in a slow and measured pace.

Liam must have been exercising for a while because Zayn can see beads of sweat sliding down the curve of his shoulderblades and down into the dip of the small of his back, his rhythmic exhales sound ragged around the edges.  
  
All he's wearing is a pair of loose-fitted basketball shorts that hang low on his hips, the thin material clinging to the soft swell of his bum.  
  
Zayn bites his lip as he thinks about peeling those shorts off. He runs a hand lazily down his chest and palms at his hardening cock.  
  
Then Liam rolls onto his back, their eyes lock, and Liam smirks. The fucker.  
  
"You knew I was watching."  
  
Liam tucks his hands behind his head and lifts his knees up into 90 degree angles. "I could feel your eyes burning into me, objectifying me like a piece of meat, if that's what you mean."  
  
Well, if that's not an invitation for Zayn to climb all over him, then Zayn doesn't know what is.  
  
He slithers out of bed and pushes Liam’s knees to the floor. Liam rolls his eyes but drops his arms back to his side and lays back down as Zayn crawls on top of him.  
  
Liam says, "I'm all sweaty." He says it like Zayn doesn't know. Like Zayn hadn't been watching the drops roll off him like he was in a god damn porno. Zayn guesses it’s supposed to be a form of protest but Liam spreads his legs accommodatingly, so Zayn can nestle between them like he belongs there.  
  
"I like you sweaty," he replies. And to prove this he laps at the hollow of Liam's throat, before sliding his lips across sweat-slicked skin and setting his teeth into the meat of his shoulder.  
  
Liam groans. Zayn can feel it vibrating from his chest and into his own. Liam's fingers are in his hair, tugging him up for kiss. They spend a few minutes running their hands all over, kissing, and rutting against each other like a couple of teenagers before Zayn finally peels himself away long enough to scramble towards the bedside table.

He barely has a grip on the lube before Liam's caught up with him. Liam yanks off Zayn’s shirt before rolling him onto the ground, hands, lips and teeth everywhere. Liam’s hand, large enough to wrap around Zayn’s throat, holds him in place as he takes his time stretching Zayn open with lubed fingers.  
  
But Zayn is impatient.  
  
He curls his fingers around both of Liam’s wrists, and pushes back against him. A sharp whine slips from his lips when Liam’s fingers brush against the sweet spot inside of him.  
  
“Jesus, Zayn.”  
  
They fuck hard and fast on the floor.   
  
Zayn comes without either of them having to touch his cock.  
  
Once the high of the orgasms fades enough to give way to coherent thought processes,  Liam complains about his knees and hard floors while Zayn laughs and calls him a crotchety old man. Liam then makes a fuss about a shower and Zayn has to kiss him to shut him up. It’s super effective.  
  
After the exchange of many slow open-mouthed kisses, Liam manages to pull them both up onto the bed. And they fall asleep in a heap of intertwined, sticky and sweaty, limbs.

 

When Zayn wakes up for the second time that day, he’s a little sore and achy but extremely, extremely satisfied. And also a little itchy. Dried come and sweat is not a good combination for the skin.  
  
Also, for the second time that day, Liam is already up. He’s sitting with his back against the side of the couch with his phone pressed up against his ear. He’s wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants, and looks suspiciously cleaner than Zayn feels.  
  
Zayn yawns and stretches, and that catches Liam’s attention. He smiles back at him. The barely-there-smile, where one side quirks up a little higher than the other. The smile that warms Zayn from the inside out like the homemade hot chocolate his mum used to make on those bitterly cold Bradford mornings.  
  
Liam mumbles something like goodbye, tosses his phone over his shoulder and onto the couch, and rises to his feet with an easy grace that Zayn should be jealous of but mostly just admires.

When Liam is closer he asks, "Who was that?"  
  
The mattress dips under his weight as he lies down next to Zayn. "Louis."  
  
"What did he want?" Zayn’s eyes flutter close as he basks in the warmth of Liam’s body. He swears Liam’s body temperature most run hotter than most people’s.  
  
Liam nuzzles against Zayn like a puppy. It’s almost distracting enough that Zayn almost misses it when Liam says, "Max wants to talk."  
  
Zayn’s eyes fly open. "What?" He grabs Liam by the shoulders and pushes him back, so he can look him directly in the face. "What does that even mean?"  
  
  
What it means is, apparently, Max has called the equivalent of a time-out between gangbangers. It has, after much debating between Harry and Louis, been accepted. And they have agreed to meet on neutral grounds.  
  
  
Why neutral grounds is some abandoned warehouse in Liverpool is beyond Zayn. And apparently beyond the rest of the boys as well.

"It's symbolic," Harry had said, nodding wisely.  
  
"Symbolic for what?"  
  
"Uh..."  
  
"It's just always been the spot," Louis shrugged. "You could even call it tradition."  
  
Zayn rolled his eyes.  
  
“If you knew what Simon is like,” Harry insists, “You would understand.”

 

The abandoned warehouse looks just like all the other abandoned warehouse in all the gangster films Zayn watched while growing up. He briefly thinks if this is life imitating art imitating life, before focusing on all the terrible things that could go wrong. It's not like Max is entirely trustworthy.  
  
"Well," Liam said, squeezing Zayn's hand gently, "neither are we." And then he pressed a gun into Zayn’s hand and kissed him.  
  
That's not entirely comforting, but Zayn keeps that to himself.  
  
Liam had taught him how to pull the trigger. Or more accurately stood behind him, chest to back, and whispered, “Don’t look away, baby. Keep your eyes open.” His hand was splayed flat across Zayn’s belly. “They need to see that you’re not afraid.”  
  
Zayn furrowed his brow as he stared at the target hanging from the other side of the room. “Even if I am?”  
  
Liam’s hand reached out to steady Zayn’s aim. “Especially if you are.”  
  
Bang. Bang, bang, bang.  
  
  
Max is, of course, already there with all his lackeys. But the usual hulking shadow of Siva is noticeably absent. Zayn wonders if he’s still in the hospital or if the police have him.

“You’re late,” Max grins and doesn’t look put off when no-one replies. His eyes sweep over Zayn, lingering over his face.   
  
Ed had removed the stitches the day before. He doesn’t need to cover it anymore, so he doesn’t. Ed told him it was healing nicely but that it would scar. Zayn had been expecting that and had only nodded in response. He turned when he felt Liam’s knuckles brushed the underside of his jaw, his eyes soft and golden under the lighting of Ed’s shop. Zayn tilted his head up, eyelashes fanned over his half-lidded eyes, and Liam leaned down to pressed a kiss to his lips.  
  
Max’s eyes snaps over to Liam. "Did you like my gift?" He leers, his gaze scouring Liam’s face, hopeful in it’s search for a crack in the armour.

"You come near him again, and I'll slit your throat." Liam’s expression remains stoic, his voice neutral, but Zayn notices his hands curling into fists.   
  
So does Max.  
  
He smiles then, like an attention-starved child being praised by his parent. "Oh, Liam. You're very welcome."  
  
Zayn shifts closer to Liam, until their shoulder to shoulder, and then presses his hand against the small of his back. He keeps it there (one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi...) until Liam’s fingers slowly start to unfurl.  
  
“Are you quite finished?” Louis interjects as he steps forward, arms crossed. “We haven’t got all day, you know.”  
  
Max drags his eyes from Liam to glance at Louis. “I suppose,” He admits rather reluctantly. “I’m sure you would have heard by now that my second-in-command is out of commission. His under police guard in the hospital and none of us have been able to reach him.” Max pauses and rests a hand under his chin like he’s in deep thought. “I mean, that’s hardly fair. It’s as if you’ve cut off my right hand.”  
  
Louis snorts. “And when did you become the poster boy for fairness? If Siva was clumsy enough to trip down a flight of stairs, that’s hardly our concern. He is rather lucky, I would think, that a Good Samaritan, who just happened to be passing by, took pity on his battered and unconscious face and dropped him off at a hospital.”  
  
“Ah, yes.” Max taps a finger under his bottom lip. “The Good Samaritan.” He smirks. “You must know where I’m going with this, Louis. You’re usually quite clever.”  
  
Louis shows off his own version of a predatory grin, all his white, even teeth bared, and doesn’t rise to the bait. “I’ll never assume to know nor understand what goes on inside your head, Max.”  
  
“I’m flattered. But I didn’t call us all here for a nice catch up and gossip.” Max clasps his hands behind his back and starts to pace. “Piers wasn’t entirely happy about the fire. Not that I’m saying that was me. But I’m also not saying it wasn’t me.” He winks at Liam. “But either way, too much attention has been drawn to us, all of us. And with Siva handcuffed to a hospital bed, the feds are all but up our arse cracks, sniffing away. The public is ‘demanding a crackdown on gang violence’ and the media is all over this like the vultures they are.  
  
“Now, I, as many of you know, am on the tail end of parole. And we all know Mr Liam Payne is also on a rather short leash. I obviously cannot speak on your behalf, Liam, but I would prefer not to go back to prison on a technicality.” Max stops walking. He makes a point to make eye contact with everyone. “I suggest a cease-fire. We lay low, wait for this to blow over. Or, at least, until Siva serves his time.”  
  
There’s a long stretch of silence as Louis first looks at Harry and then Liam, and very briefly, glances at Zayn. “Is he pleading out?”  
  
Max nods. “He’ll get eighteen months. He’ll be out in eight. Ten, tops.”  
  
Louis takes Liam by the elbow and gestures for the rest of the boys to gather around.  
  
“We’re not going to let Max just make all the fucking decisions, are we?” Andy hisses. “The fucker started this and now _he_ wants to call a truce?”  
  
“I don’t like this anymore than you do,” Louis grimaces. “But Max has a point. Liam’s parole will practically be over by the time Siva gets out."  
  
"So we're just going to take his word for it?" Andy asks, incredulous.  
  
"Just as much as he has to take ours," Harry replies.  
  
"You're the one who has the most to lose," Louis says as everyone turns to Liam, who stares at the ground, his brow creased in frustration.  
  
"We're all in this together," he says.  
  
Zayn slides his fingers between Liam's and squeezes.  
  
Liam looks up at Zayn. Zayn looks back. Whatever you want, he thinks, and we'll follow you.  
  
He looks back at the rest of them, each pair of eyes as deteremined as the next. Finally, Liam says, "Okay."  
  
They all nod.  
  
Liam turns back to Max and says, louder, "Okay. You keep your head down. And we'll keep ours."

"Right." Max grins. "First one who blinks, loses."

"I'm not playing your games, Max." Liam says as he turns away.

It must be the soft chuckle from Max that has Liam's steps pause long enough to hear Max say, "Aren't you?"  
  
Liam freezes.

Zayn feels the tension ratchet up so quickly, it’s like a switch had been flipped.

Before anyone else can react, Liam surges forward, and with a resounding crack, punches Max in the face. Zayn and the others scramble to Liam’s side, while Max’s guys rush forward in outrage but Max holds out his arm in a placating gesture. Max’s eyes dart back to Liam as he rubs at his jaw.   
  
“You went with your weaker arm,” he says. “How disappointing.”  
  
With the solemnity of stating a well-known fact, Liam says, “Next time, I’m going to kill you.”

The small smile softens the hard edge of Max’s eyes, he looks almost pleased. There's a sharp glint of teeth when his tongue darts out to lick the blood from his lips. His gaze burning into Liam like he's the only one there. “I look forward to it, Liam.”


	18. ..you remember how sad they're going to be

Zayn hadn’t smoked weed since the day he picked up Liam from prison. It had not been a conscious decision, it just never came up.   
  
He had frowned when Louis suggested it. “You didn’t this from Perrie’s friend Cher, did you?” He said and eyed the blunt carefully.  
  
“No.” Louis scrunched up his face as he blew out a plume of smoke. “Who’s that?” Louis was always better with faces than names.  
  
Zayn laughed to himself and glanced briefly at Liam, who looked at him curiously. In the background, Harry tried to describe Cher to Louis. Harry knew everyone.   
  
“Nevermind,” Zayn said and nudged Louis with his foot. “Pass the spliff.”   
  
He inhaled as deep as he could. “C’mere,” he said to Liam from the side of his mouth, trying to keep as much of the smoke in his lungs as possible. He grabbed Liam by the collar of the shirt and yanked him forward when Liam was slow to react. He pressed their mouths together and exhaled the smoke into Liam’s slightly parted lips. Whatever Liam was expecting, that wasn’t it. He spluttered and coughed, while Louis laughed and Harry dashed into the kitchen to get him a glass of water.  
  
Zayn waited until Liam’s had a couple of small sips of water and was no longer trying to hack up a lung before he leaned over and did it again.  
  
Liam always was a fast learner.  
  
  
Now they’re all in Louis’ living room, pleasantly buzzed.

Liam and Zayn are slow grinding, out of sync, to the upbeat pop song Harry swore he liked ironically but everyone else knew to be a dirty lie. Louis was passed out on the couch. His head lolled against the armrest in a way Zayn knew would hurt like hell in the morning. Harry was in the kitchen, scrounging around, insisting he wanted nachos.  
  
Zayn rolled his hip back against Liam’s and smirked when he grunted, fingers tightening on Zayn’s hips.  
  
“Tease,” Liam whispers as he tucks his face against the side of Zayn’s neck.  
  
Turning to face him, Zayn says, “Only a tease if I don’t put out.”  
  
Liam arches an eyebrow, “Are you putting out?”  
  
Zayn just grins and licks his lips slowly as he thrusted up against Liam.  
  
Growling, Liam grabbed Zayn’s arm and started tugging him towards Louis’ bedroom.  
  
“Louis’ going to be mad if we fuck on his bed,” Zayn’s trying to say it as seriously as he can but bursts of giggles escape his mouth, unbidden.   
  
“We’re not going to fuck on his bed. We’re just going to sleep.” The giggling is contagious, Liam tries to cover his mouth.  
  
“No, we’re not.” Zayn says, more straight-faced than before.  
  
Liam kicks the door shut behind them, pulling Zayn flush up against his chest. “No, we’re not.” He agrees solemnly. “Louis can suck it.”  
  
They both giggle. That harmonised rather well, Zayn thinks idly before he pushes up onto his toes and demands a kiss.  
  
“We’ll go slow, okay?” He murmurs against Liam’s lips, and then promptly shoves Liam onto the bed.  
  
He lands with a soft “oof!” before sitting up with a frown. “I thought we were going slow.”  
  
“We are.” Zayn says, tugging his shirt off over his head and letting it drop onto the floor.  He crawls up the length of Liam’s body and helpfully pulls Liam’s shirt off too.   
  
Shoes and socks are kicked off, and a moment later the jeans and pants are shedded.   
  
“So efficient,” Liam marvels, and goes with no resistance when Zayn pushes him onto his back. Zayn smirks.  
  
For what feels like hours they just kiss, slow, wet, open-mouthed kissing.

Liam grips the back of Zayn’s neck, fingers twisted into the tufts of hair. “I wish you knew me before.” He mumbles into the crook of Zayn’s neck, a muffled confession. “I think you would have liked me.”   
  
Zayn stills and lets the words sink in. He kisses the side of Liam’s head before urging his face up, so Zayn can look him in the eyes. “We’re here now. I like you now.”  
  
Liam watches him intently, even going a little cross-eyed when Zayn leans forward to press a gentle kiss against his lips.  
  
Letting out a shuddering breath, Liam rests their foreheads together. “You’ll never know how much you mean to me.”  
  
“Liam.” Zayn wraps his arms and legs tightly around his back, tugging them closer until there isn’t an inch of space between them.  
  
“Sorry.” Liam nuzzles the side of his jaw, huffs a dry laugh. “This is the opposite of giggles.”  
  
Chest to chest, their heartbeats are out of time with each other but they manage to fall into a rhythm, all on their own.  
  
“Thinking about going to see my parents next month.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.” He lets the word drag out and then adds, “You should come with me.” It’s probably not the best set of circumstances to bring it up, talking about your parents while you’re lying starkers with your boyfriend. But Zayn had been thinking about it for a while. “They’ll like you,” Zayn continues when Liam doesn’t say anything. “Especially my sisters. They’ll think you’re real fit.”  
  
Zayn feels the vibrations of Liam’s chuckle before he pushes himself up onto his elbows. Zayn loosens his hold and steadily meets Liam’s gaze as Liam repeats, “You want me to meet your family?”  
  
“Yeah. I want you to meet them.”  
  
Liam is silent for a moment, “Okay. I want to meet your family too.” Then Liam smiles that shy half-smile that never fails to fill Zayn with a joy and love that would have had moody teenager him scoffing and gagging, even though he was secretly writing terrible poetry about bleeding hearts and bottomless eyes in the margins of his notebooks.  
  
And with that thought, Zayn says, “Now are you going to fuck me or what?”  
  
Laughing, Liam leans over and starts rummaging through Louis draw.  
  
“It’s not weird, right?” Liam asks, when he has two fingers crooked inside of Zayn. “Using your friend’s lube? That’s not weird, is it?”  
  
“No,” Zayn grunts as Liam twists his fingers just so. “Not weird.” But Zayn would have said anything to make sure Liam didn’t stop. He would have said, with great conviction, Louis was the Queen’s mother and wow, what an inappropriate chain of thoughts this turned out to be. Luckily, Liam was easing in a third finger and all coherent thoughts were, more or less, banished.  
  
“Go slow,” Zayn reminds him as he cups Liam’s face and pulls his down for a greedy kiss.  
  
Liam’s eyes flutter when he finally sinks into Zayn. “Anything, Zayn” he murmurs. “Anything you want.”

Zayn arches up towards Liam’s throat and sucks a bruise over his wonky heart-shaped birthmark.

 

 

 

 

  
  
They didn’t know it then, but the truce will be broken tomorrow.  
  
Later, Zayn will learn that Siva died while under house arrest, from an aneurysm, which, ironically, had nothing to do with the extent of his physical injuries but everything to do with  a previously undiagnosed copper deficiency that was apparently missed at the overworked and understaffed hospital.  
  
Maybe Max really cared about Siva, maybe he didn’t. But the reasons don’t matter, not anymore.  
  
The truce will be broken, but they didn’t know it then.  
  
They didn’t know.


	19. you knew how this would end (i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAKE HEED OF FIC WARNINGS, PLEASE!

They’re leaving Paul’s with plans to catch the late afternoon session in town of the newly released Avengers sequel Liam wouldn’t stop babbling about.  
  
“Don’t overhype it,” Louis says as he pushed open the front door.  
  
“It’s going to be brilliant!” Liam insists as he tugged his snapback lower to shield his eyes from unseasonably hazy sunshine. “Did you see the trailers?”  
  
Louis rolls his eyes before putting on his Ray-Bans. “Course, I did. But you know they put the best bits in them.”  
  
“Louis is always like this,” Harry smiles fondly, like it’s a Louis-only type quirk. “He always acts like he doesn’t care and that he’s doing us the great favour of tagging along, when he’s the one worried that Iron Man is going to die and is squeezing your hand so hard he draws blood with his nails.”  
  
Louis could be glaring daggers at Harry but it’s hard to tell behind the dark shades.  
  
Liam scoffs. “Right. As if they would ever kill off Iron Man.”  
  
Louis turns his possible glaring towards Liam.  
  
Zayn grins at the lot of them and suspects he may be mirroring Harry’s dopey expression but he doesn’t care. He’s out with his most favourite people and about to embark on a lazy day with plans they're going to make up as they go.  
  
His left hand was entwined in Liam’s and his right was patting down the front of his jeans. He halts. “Forgot my cigarettes.” He tugs his other hand free. “Be right back.”  
  
Liam glances at him but he’s being dragged into a pointless argument by Louis, who rates riling up Liam as one of his top three pastimes.   
  
The boys loiter at the corner as Zayn jogs back to Paul’s. He’s just pulling the door open when he hears the loud screeching of tyres and then Liam shouting, “Get down! Get down!”  
  
Zayn is about to turn around when the sound of spraying bullets has him throwing himself through the open door and onto the ground. There’s a cacophony of noises, all layered on top of each other so tightly Zayn can’t tell what is what. His vision zeroes in on Perrie’s frightened face as she peers from around the side of the bar. Zayn belly crawls towards her. He scrambles up onto all fours when he’s a few feet from her and throws his body on top of her.  
  
He holds onto her until the silence descends as abruptly as the noise had started, like someone had jabbed mute on the remote.  
  
His ears are still ringing and he can feel rather than hear Perrie sobbing beneath him. Her hands are wrapped tightly around one wrist. He’s rubbing his hand up and down her back, checking to see if she’s hurt. She’s not but she refuses to let go. His heart and mind are racing. He needs to check on Liam, Louis and Harry. Liam, Liam, LiamLiamLiam. Oh god.  
  
Paul bursts in from the backroom, gun drawn, just as Louis barrels in through the front, yelling. “--hospital!”  
  
Zayn’s heart jumps to his throat. There’s splatters of blood on his hands and shirt but he looks physically fine, though his eyes are wide and his face is deathly pale.   
  
A second later, Liam stumbles in with Harry cradled against his chest, his eyes closed and lips slack. But he’s breathing, Zayn can just make out the tentative rise and fall of his chest. Harry’s wearing black jeans and a black shirt, and it’s difficult to see, at first glance, the extent of his injuries. Liam’s white tee is soaked through with blood.  
  
Paul helps Liam lower Harry onto a nearby table.  
  
Zayn’s not sure if he helped Perrie up onto her feet, or if it was the otherway around. But suddenly he’s walking towards Harry, who’s so fucking still.  
  
Louis hovers around until Paul pushes him out of the way with a gentle but firm hand. “Harry,” Paul says, “I need you to stay awake. Keep your eyes open.” Harry’s eyelids flutter. “Come on,” Paul urges. Harry finally opens his eyes, his gaze skittering towards Paul. “That’s a good lad. We’ve got you. It’s okay.”  
  
Harry’s breathing is erratic and shallow, like he can’t inhale enough oxygen. Blood is bubbling at the corner of his lips. Paul rests his hand on Harry’s forehead and pushes back the blood-matted hair. “We’ve got you.”  
  
Harry lets out a low, pained whimper and it fucking breaks Zayn’s heart.  
  
“He needs to go to the hospital, Paul.” Liam’s voice is surprisingly steady.  
  
Perrie’s managed to pull herself together and has gathered an armful of dish towels. Paul rips Harry’s shirt open and is pressing the towels against the wounds he can see, trying to staunch the bleeding. Zayn flinches, and turns his gaze away. They catch onto the sharp edges of Louis as he paces back and forth, his hands twisted in his hair.   
  
“Louis,” Zayn says as he steps towards him. Louis either can’t hear him or ignores him. When he reaches out to grab his shoulder, Louis jerks up in surprise. “Are you hurt?”  
  
Louis takes a while to answer, eyes flicking to Zayn’s face and then over his shoulder to wear Harry is, and then back again. He shakes his head. He looks down at his stained hands. “Not my blood,” he says softly.   
  
“Perrie, get the car started,” Paul barks as he carefully lifts Harry into his arms.   
  
She darts out the back without a word.  
  
Louis steps forward. “I’m coming with you.”  
  
“No. You guys need to get out of here and lay low. Police will be here any minute.”  
  
“Paul, I--”  
  
“Louis.” Paul warns and then he ducks out the backdoor.  
  
“He’s right.” Liam turns to them. “We have to get out of here.”  
  
Beside him, Zayn can hear Louis inhale sharply. Before he can react, Louis charges forward and grabs Liam by the front of his shirt. “This is your fault!” He shoves Liam back until he hits the wall with a thud. Liam’s taller, heavier, stronger but he doesn’t fight him, doesn’t even resist. “This is all your fucking fault!” Louis spits with a fury Zayn's never seen before.  
  
“Louis!” Zayn grabs the back of Louis shirt and tries to yank him back. He doesn’t budge.  
  
“You should have killed him when you had the chance!” Louis face is red, rage burning from his eyes, inches from Liam’s. His teeth bared like a wild animal, unpredictable in its fear.  
  
Liam doesn’t respond, just blinks back steadily, which only serves to pour fuel on Louis fire. He swings back and punches Liam in the face with a crack that looks like it hurt Louis more than Liam, judging by the way Louis swears and reels back against Zayn’s chest.  
  
Zayn staggers back a couple of steps, holding onto Louis. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he twists out of Zayn’s arms and shoves him away.  
  
“It’s not Liam’s fault.” Zayn says, edging towards Liam. He hasn’t moved from his position by the wall.  
  
“We were supposed to take care of him!” Louis stares at his stained hands again and deflates. “We promised his dad.” Liam flinches then, like he’s been struck again but this blow cracks through and hits something soft and tender. But Louis doesn’t see it. His eyes are wide and glassy, and when he blinks, Zayn sees the tears roll down his cheeks. “I promised his dad,” he says, softer.  
  
Zayn can’t help the tears welling up in his own eyes. There are so many things he wants to say to Louis, so many things he should say but all the words are woefully, painfully inadequate, so he says, “We have to get out of here.”  
  
Zayn tries to get Louis to come with them but he just shakes his head and gets into his car. He screeches out of the parking lot so fast, the sound causes Zayn to wince.  
  
He can’t think of anywhere else to go, so he goes home.  
  
Liam doesn't say another word.

 

  
  
Andy and a couple of familiar faces are standing outside Zayn’s building when the pull up.  
  
Andy opens his mouth, but he must see something in their faces, because he shuts it again without saying a word. He and two other guys follow Zayn and Liam up the stairs. The rest stay downstairs.  
  
Zayn has to steer Liam to the bed and make him sit down. He peels the bloody shirt off of Liam and notes the blood has soaked through to stain his skin. Liam’s also been nicked in the shoulder but he probably hasn’t even realised.

He wets a damp cloth, kneels in front of Liam and starts cleaning off the blood from his chest, arms and hands. He tries not to think about whose blood it is.   
  
He fails.   
  
“I think there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.” Zayn says, mostly to himself.  
  
“Louis’ right,” Liam says before Zayn can even stand up.  
  
He doesn’t know exactly what Liam’s referring to, but he knows the answer. “No, he’s not.”  
  
Liam does not look at him.

  
  
He’s bandaging up Liam’s shoulder the best he can when Andy steps in and waits impatiently for Zayn to finish up, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.  
  
Zayn bites back his desire to snap at him. He washes his hands in the kitchen, watches the swirl of red go down the drain until the water runs clear. He can hear Andy muttering but Liam doesn’t say a word. Zayn turns towards him when Liam stands and pulls on a T-shirt that was draped over a nearby chair.  
  
Andy says, “We’re going to go pick some things up.” He’s already striding out the door without a glance.   
  
Liam hesitates for a moment. “They’ll be people outside. If you--”  
  
“Just go,” Zayn sighs, already turning back towards the sink.  
  
“I’ll be back, Zayn."  
  
Zayn just nods, his fingers curled tightly around the edge of the counter.  
  
A soft click as the door falls shut, and Liam’s gone.  
  
And for the first time in a long time, inside his head, Zayn prays to a God he doesn't believe in.  
  
  
  
  
Louis a whirlwind as soon as he’s through the door. He’s opening draws and throwing Zayn’s things into his gym bag.  
  
Zayn is stunned, and a for a moment can only stare as his friend moves frantically around the room. “Louis, what are you--”  
  
“What else do you need?” Louis snaps back, not looking up.  
  
“What?”  
  
“To take with you!”  
  
“Where?”  
  
Louis doesn’t reply. He’s trying to shove down the mountain of things into the bag and zip it close. It’s futile. “Louis, stop!” Zayn kneels down beside him and grabs his wrists. “What’s going on? How’s Harry?”  
  
Louis freezes at that. Harry. And Zayn feels like he’s been dropped from a great height.   
  
“Louis,” his voice is softer now. “Where’s Harry?”  
  
When Louis looks up to meet his eyes, Zayn knows, he fucking just knows, but Louis says it anyway. “He’s dead.” The two words feel like a physical blow, even though Louis barely raises his voice above a whisper. “We were too late.” And the flatness of his tone makes it almost sound like a foreign language to Zayn’s ears.  
  
For a moment all Zayn can see is Harry's fond, gentle smile as he looked over at Liam and Louis. He remembers the way the afternoon light had turned Harry's eyes into a warm bottle green. He had a pimple right in the middle of his chin, Louis had made a predictable crack about the Wicked Witch of the West that had everyone rolling their eyes. And it's that small detail, that tiny blemish on his friend's beautiful face that drives the air out of Zayn's lungs.  
  
He's never going to see Harry smile while standing outside in the sunshine again. He's never going to have Harry asleep and drooling on his shoulder. He'll never hear his ridiculous braying laughter or get elbowed in the ribs while Harry blatantly cheated at Mario Karts. He would never see Harry again and the loss was almost unbearable. But he had only known Harry a year, and loved him for just as long.  
  
His eyes flickered back towards Louis. Louis had known Harry since the day he was born.  
  
Louis, whose hands were now shaking withing Zayn's grasp. He looked small and colourless, a light extinguished.  
  
“I fucking failed Harry.” Louis pulls his hands out of Zayn’s grip. “I’m not going to let you die too.”  
  
His movements shake Zayn from his stupor. “Louis...” He wants to pull his friend into his arms but Louis' still sharp and brittle, and so fucking fragile, Zayn is almost afraid to touch him again, afraid he’ll shatter right in front of him. Zayn doesn’t have the means to put him back together again. Louis’ hands shake as he tries again and again to zip Zayn’s bag. He wants to be gentle. He wants to tuck Louis into bed and take care of him the way he’s always taken care of Zayn. The way he’s always taken care of all of them. “I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
“I brought you here.” Louis says through his clenched jaw, “I’m taking you back.”

Zayn doesn’t know how long they sit there, Louis staring at his bag and Zayn watching Louis.  
  
He doesn’t even realise Liam’s returned, standing right behind him, until Louis jerks back like a startled bird that’s forgotten how to fly.  
  
Zayn twists around and sees Liam’s eyes flit from them to the bag, and then back to Louis and Zayn again. There’s a gun in his hand. When he around, Zayn sees another one tucked into the back of his jeans.  
  
“Maz has found them,” he says, and starts to walk away.  
  
“Harry’s dead.” There’s nothing accusatory in his voice. No venom, no heat. It’s Louis stripped bare and aching.  
  
Liam stops. He rubs his free hand down his face. “I know.” His voice is muffled and his shoulders shake for a moment before he inhales sharply and straightens himself, his hand falling to his side.  
  
He leaves.  
  
Zayn feels the grief welling up inside of him, but he’s afraid to cry for Harry, for Louis. He’s afraid that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. “Louis,” he turns back to his friend, already he notices a change in his demeanor, a mask sliding into place. “What do we do?”  
  
With a razor-sharp smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, Louis reaches over to cover Zayn’s hand with his own. His touch is cool against his his skin. “Don’t worry, Zayn Malik.” He says with eyes too bright. “Everything’s going to be alright.”  
  
He stands and walks out the door. Zayn watches him pull a gun out from under his shirt.  
  
“Everything’s going to be alright,” he whispers to himself as he gets up and follows them.


	20. you knew how this would end (ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU, GUYS. YOU, GUYS!
> 
> First of all, yes, I'm a terrible liar when I future updates would not take more than 4 weeks. I swear I meant it then.
> 
> Secondly, THANK YOU ALL SO, SO, SO, SO MUCH for all your comments and kudos and bookmarks!! Seriously. You guys encouraged me to keep going even though sometimes it felt like drawing blood from a stone.
> 
> But it's finally done!
> 
> Before you proceed, please remember the warnings for this fic. I should have had a reminder at the beginning in the previous chapter and I'm sorry I didn't.
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for sticking with this fic.

It felt like time had slowed down, an almost-out-of-body experience he always scoffed at in books and online forums.   
  
Later he will know it was all in his head. He will know the universe did not narrow down and stretch out this moment like Zayn was watching stop motion through the wrong end of a telescope. The universe did not give a shite about him. It didn’t give a shite about anyone, but it especially didn’t give a shite about Zayn.  
  
He had lost sight of Louis as soon as they had entered the warehouse. He had charged in like a man with nothing to lose, Liam’s words lost in his wake. He stepped forward, as if to follow but then turned sharply to look at Zayn.  
  
“Stay low,” Liam said to him, voice rough, eyes raw. “Stay safe.” He pressed a kiss to Zayn’s forehead, Zayn’s lips. His hand, warm and gentle as he squeezed the back of Zayn’s neck. “I love you.” And even though he had known all along, had ached for Liam to say it, it sounded haunting and devastating to his ears.   
  
It sounded like goodbye.  
  
He had darted away before Zayn could respond and Zayn had no choice but to follow, afraid if he blinked for longer than a second, Liam would simply vanish without a trace.  
  
They get separated when Liam hears a pained “Fuck!” from what Liam swore was Andy. Zayn had no reason to dispute him, he had never heard Andy shout in pain. Liam scrambled away, a second later Zayn edges out but is sent skittering back behind the stack of crates they were crouching behind to avoid a sudden burst of bullets.  
  
Zayn shot back without looking, doesn’t know if he hit anything but there’s no return fire. He waited a few beats longer, peered around the crates and then dashed forward, while keeping as close to the ground as possible.  
  
He keeps moving in the direction Liam went, ducking and dodging, until he almost, literally, stumbles over Andy’s outstretched leg.  
  
“Fuckin’ hell! Watch where you’re going!”  
  
Even under his fake, streaky tan, Zayn can tell Andy’s pale. He’s been shot in the leg, that much is obvious. Zayn is practically kneeling in a pool of blood. There’s a lot of blood. “Holy fuck,” Zayn says. He’s seen enough medical dramas to know there’s an important artery or something in the area Andy is carefully clutching.  
  
“I’m fuckin’ dyin’, aren’t I?”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Andy.”  
  
“Jeez, Zayn. I--”  
  
“Just stop talking, for a sec. Please.” Andy falls silent as Zayn shrugs out of his jacket and gently presses it against Andy’s bleeding thigh. It’s fucking leather so it’s not going to absorb shite but Zayn doesn’t know what else to fucking do.  
  
Despite the shouting and the shooting, Zayn can still pick out the distinct wail of sirens. He isn’t the only one. The shouting becomes more desperate, the shooting more urgent.   
  
“Hear that, you stubborn git?”  
  
“Fuckin’ coppers.” Andy actually laughs.  
  
“You’re not going to die, mate.” Zayn says and Andy grimaces.  
  
As gently as he can, and through Andy’s muffled swearing, he shifts Andy’s leg out of the way so it doesn’t get possibly stomped on a second time, although someone slipping in the blood is a different story. It’s then he notices the streaks of blood and footprints, like someone had dragged Andy to this hidden corner.  
  
“Liam,” Andy says, following Zayn’s line of sight. “He thought he saw Max and then took off.” He glances at Zayn. “Go on then. Nothing you can do for me here.”  
  
Zayn nods but just before he leaves he asks, “Have you seen Louis?”  
  
“Saw him briefly, about 15 minutes ago, shouting at the top of his lungs like a complete nutter.” Andy’s eyebrows dip as he recalls the memory. “He’s lost it, hasn’t he?”  
  
Shaking his head, even though he doesn’t know, thinks maybe, Zayn says, “I think we’re all a little bit mad.” Andy’s lip curls at the corners as he snorts. “And don’t you fucking die.”  
  
Andy salutes with his free hand and smirks. “Aye, aye, captain!”  
  
Zayn doesn’t look back when he rushes off. If this is the last time he sees Andy, he wants to remember him as the cocky arse with the obnoxious grin. It’s the least he can do.  
  
Time is a funny thing, hilarious even. God, Zayn wants to laugh until he cries. It can move excruciatingly slow and faster than a heartbeat simultaneously.   
  
He sees Liam first, and Max second. Max sees Liam, only Liam.  
  
Liam doesn’t see either of them.  
  
Before Zayn has a chance to open his mouth, Max is tackling Liam to the ground with enough force it knocks the guns from their hands. With gravity and the element of surprise on his side, Max straddles Liam’s chest and pins his arms down with his knees. His right hand punches Liam repeatedly in the face while his left squeezes around Liam’s neck.  
  
It’s too far for Zayn to even try to shoot, he has to get closer. But the sirens have only gotten louder and there are people running in all directions. For a second he swears he sees Louis, but his attention is back on Liam as he watches him twist and buck, forcing Max to roll forward as Liam’s knees collide with his back.  
  
They both spring onto their feet at the same time, eyes locked on each other. Liam’s nose and lips are bleeding. Max’s fist is bloody and raw.  
  
The circle each other, apparently oblivious to everything else around them.   
  
Liam lunges forward, Max raises his arms in an attempt to deflect the fury of blows to his upper body, doesn’t see the knee to the gut. When he doubles over, Liam brings an elbow down between his shoulderblades. Max hits the ground hard but rolls away just in time to avoid getting his head stomped on.  
  
Zayn tries to weave his way closer, almost gets knocked over by a blur of guys who could be friend or foe.  
  
Max tries to trip Liam by hooking his ankles with his own. Liam stumbles but doesn’t go down. It does give Max enough time to turn onto his back and lash out with both legs, his feet hitting Liam square in the sternum. The force of it sends Liam into a wall of barrells. Max uses the momentum to scramble back and reach for the gun he dropped earlier.

No. _NoNoNoNoNoNoNo._

Zayn forgets every instinct of self preservation  and flat out runs towards them, yelling Liam’s name.

Liam doesn’t hear him, can’t hear him. He barely has time to push himself up before Max fires three shots, emptying his clip into Liam's chest.

Zayn’s knees give out and he crashes to the ground. He scrambles the last agonizing steps on all fours until his hands are on Liam’s face, his shoulders, hauling Liam up onto his lap, cradling him to his chest. He can feel Liam’s blood soaking through his shirt and his jeans. He’s still warm, his blood, his skin. But Liam’s eyes are dark and empty, black holes in which no light could ever escape.  
  
Zayn feels everything, he feels nothing.  
  
From the corner of his eyes he sees Max struggling to get to his feet and failing. He must have fucked up both ankles when he had kicked Liam so hard in the chest.  
  
He lays Liam back on the ground, runs his fingertips over Liam’s eyelids. He doesn’t want to see those lifeless eyes ever again. He presses a gentle kiss to Liam’s forehead, Liam’s lips.  
  
“I love you,” he whispers, like a promise, an oath.  
  
Max is still holding the gun, even though he’s run out of bullets.   
  
Zayn knows.  
  
The empty click as Max pulled the trigger over and over again was the loudest fucking thing Zayn has ever heard, louder than the gunshots.  
  
Zayn still has his. He doesn’t know how many bullets he has has left, but he only needs one. Only one.  
  
He pulls it out from the back of his jeans when he stands. He takes his time, step by step.   
  
Max doesn’t move, just watches him with wary eyes.  
  
The sirens are practically on top of them. They’re outside. There’s more shouting and no more shooting.

Zayn can still walk away from this, he knows. He has no criminal record. He can  wipe down the gun, turn, and literally walk away. He can claim to be innocent bystander, with terrible timing and luck, caught in a turf between two rival gangs with a long history of retaliatory violence. He could tell the police he didn’t know what happened, that he doesn’t know any of them, that he was simply minding his own business. And they would believe him, they would have no reason not to.   
  
It would be his word against Max’s.

They would probably stand over Liam’s body, shaking their heads. They might recognise his face, even when it’s pale and unnaturally still. A bright spark snuffed out too soon, they could say, without really having a chance to burn brightly. They’ll never know Liam glowed with the warmth of the sun, that he shone brighter and with more colours than a supernova, however brief.

Zayn sees Niall sitting at home in Mullingar, waiting for Liam. Liam is not a breaker of promises, Niall will tell himself, over and over. His mother will be bustling around the house, trying to keep busy as she blinks back tears. Zayn sees Harry hidden away in a draw in the basement of a hospital. The unscathed parts of him will be given to someone in need, something special. It’s what Harry wanted. Zayn hopes, more than anything, that Harry’s heart survived, that it’s beating life into someone else, that they’ll take care of it, treasure it, marvel at how precious it is. Zayn sees Louis’ face. His eyes as beautiful, and mysterious, and as terrifying as the ocean, filled with disdain, with laughter, and then, painfully empty.  
  
And like always, Zayn’s thoughts circle back to Liam.  
  
He feels the tears prickle. He blinks down hard to keep them at bay, refuses to let Max see it.  
  
 _“Don’t look away, baby. Keep your eyes open.”_   
  
He swears he can feel the centering weight of Liam’s palm on his stomach, the heat of his broad chest against his back, and the soft huff of his voice right by his ear.   
  
_“They need to see that you’re not afraid.”_  
  
“Even if I am?” Zayn says out loud, raising his eyes to meet Max’s.  
  
A gentle rumble of a laugh that still sends a shiver down his spine.  
  
 _“Especially if you are.”_  
  
“Do it.” It could be a dare, a taunt. Or maybe a plea. Afterall there's a reason why superheroes and supervillians never kill each other. For what would one do without the other?

Zayn can still walk away, like he doesn’t know them, like he doesn’t love them, like he doesn’t love Liam.  
  
He says, "This is my gift for you."  
  
Max’s eyes widens, a flicker of recognition.  
  
  
  
  
Zayn pulls the trigger.  
  
  
  
  
Bang.   
  
_Bang, bang, bang._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was thinking about writing an alternate ending. No promises! Considering how long this took. But even though I feel like this is the ending for this fic, I also want the boys to be happy or at least more ambiguous and slightly hopeful?
> 
> I will be working on my other fic (yes, the one I started in February!) And I can definitely, definitely say that one will be much, much happier and fluffier than this one.
> 
> I know you might not like this ending, and I can't blame you. But I hope it was satisfying? No, that's not right. Can't really think of the right word.
> 
> I'll stop with the self-conscious rambling and will end it with another huge THANK YOU SO MUCH. YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING!!


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